The Next Morning

"Pipe down, ya bloody 'lil mongrel!" Hagrid barks back at my parents little rat of a dog.

I lead the magical giant through my parents mansion, keeping note to avoid all chandeliers hanging overhead. It was in my best interest to avoid my guest's beard getting tied up in one of them.

Mum would have a mental breakdown if any of her precious belongings were-

Crash.

Speak of the devil.

My shoulders tense as I slowly turn to Hagrid; his index finger now in place of where my mother's antique glass vase used to stand.

"Hagrid!" I shout. Rosy cheeks and a guilty smile shine through his bushy beard. "Don't touch anything."

"'Er, sorry 'bout that." He bashfully wrings his enormous hands together as I turn to my staircase.

I ascend the stairs noticing that the expected prominent heavy footsteps behind me are non-existent. Instead, I hear the clanking of a few bottles from my father's liquor cabinet echoing down the hall.

"Hagrid!" I call after him again. The thud of his weighty leather boots slowly make their way toward the stairway as he appears in the hallway holding a handle of Fireball whiskey.

"Do 'yeh mind?" he asks unscrewing the cap.

"Well, actually I-"

The beastly man guzzles a quarter of the way through the bottle before I have the chance to respond. He half chokes removing the brim from his lips with an astonished expression.

He holds the label up close to his face smacking his lips together.

"Cinnamon whiskey. Now 'yer on teh something, muggles," he says with delight before taking another hefty gulp.


I manage to get Hagrid in my room and immediately lock the door behind him. Hopefully the locked door half his size will keep him from venturing off to find another glass trinket or alcoholic beverage of my parents to violate.

If I could avoid a savage beating from my asshole of a father, I'd prefer that route. Breaking into his alcohol stash and a broken vase was already more than enough of a promise for a few bruises.

I grab the large suitcase from beneath my bed spreading it open on the floor. I hear the slosh of the whiskey against the surface as he places the handle on the dresser behind me.

"Ay! Who be this?"

Crash.

"Oops." Hagrid bends over picking up the broken frame knocked from my night stand. "Err, I think I know a spell to fix 'er right up." He clears his throat removing the umbrella from his jacket.

"No," I use myself as a human shield between myself and the shattered picture beneath me. "No magic in my parent's house. You've done enough damage. Don't touch anything!"

As expected, my words fall upon deaf ears as he kneels before me and picks up the picture. He lightly brushes the shards of glass from the photograph with close observation.

"Is this 'yer, uh.. 'yer.."

"My parents."

There's a tense silence in the room as the picture intently holds his attention. "Would you like 'teh see 'yer real parents, Harry?" There's a newfound solemn severity in his tone.

My eyes dart from side to side with an uneasy sensation in my stomach. He hadn't brought up the fact I was 'adopted' since he briefly mentioned it at the bar. I was a bit distracted after witnessing a whole group of wankers from my school turn into a pack of wild dogs before my eyes.

"Those are my parents," I agitatedly insist referencing the picture. "I'm barely even a year old in this."

His hand searches the unlimited number of hidden departments in his jacket. A wallet sized ripped up photograph hangs between two fingers as he offers it to me.

"That's 'cuz yeh were only 5 months old when 'yer parents.. when they, uh.."

My thumb traces the tiny picture in hand. A woman with strawberry blonde hair and bright green eyes stands next to a man with long dark hair well-kept across his forehead.

I'd be lying if I didn't say the man in the picture didn't look exactly like me; circular glasses and all.

I clutch the picture nearing it closer to my face. The woman's head in the photo suddenly appears to turn toward the man, and he looks over to her, as the photograph comes to life.

I gasp and aggressively flick it from my hand as if it had just burnt my finger. My eyes widen at Hagrid, thoroughly stunned. "That picture- it was.. why was it moving?"

"Well uh course it was movin'!" He lets out a hearty chuckle before picking the mini photograph from the floor. "Lily and James Potter, that is," he introduces.

Hagrid plops on my bed as the other end lifts from the floor struggling to support his weight. "'Yer parents were some of the finest witches and wizards that Hogwarts University had ever seen. And 'yer next, it's in 'yer blood. Dumbledore's 'sher of it-"

"They were the finest?" I question his usage of past tense. "Well, where are they now then? No offense, but if they're such great wizards, why aren't they in my bedroom instead of sending you?"

"'Er.." Another object miraculously emerges from Hagrid's coat as he peers down at the stop watch in hand. "We best get goin' now. 'Yer gonna need 'yerself a wand."


30 Minutes Later

Dog food spills across the floor as it overflows the tiny bowl. I balance my cell phone between my shoulder and head as I hastily empty the rest of its content. My parents would be home in a couple of days, and this would surely hold the little rat over until then.

I multitask, finishing up a bogus voicemail to my mother. I informed that I was leaving for UCL early; lacrosse practice, or some rubbish like that.

They wouldn't care to question anyway.

"So that's what 'yer tellin' your 'rents, eh?" Hagrid questions with a judgmental brow raised. I shove my cell back in my pocket while trying to keep up with his pace. I near the front door hauling the oversized luggage behind me.

"If I'm being honest, I could give a damn where they think I've run off too," I respond more agitatedly than intended. "Probably won't even bloody notice."

Hagrid halts stopping me in place. "Codswallop!" he booms. "A load of rubbish, that is! 'Yer famous in the wizarding world, where yeh belong! Besides, yeh seem like a good fellow teh me."

Clearly the gentle giant wasn't too keen at getting a good read on people.

I've never been one to be described as 'a good fellow'.

I sigh, pass him out the front door, and make my way toward the two-person motorcycle parked out front.


"Pit stop!" Hagrid hollers over the loud engine of his bizarre scooter. He pulls over at one of the local dive bars.

What a surprise.

After all, it had already been 45 minutes since his last drink.

I yank the helmet and silly goggles from my head before shaking my messy hair in place. Stumbling out of his funky motorcycle, I follow Hagrid inside the dimly lit joint. We pass the bartender and wait staff as we make our way back toward the kitchen.

"Hagrid?" I inquire tapping him on the shoulder. "We passed the bartender," I state the obvious pointing my thumb the other direction.

He ignores my comment as we reach a dead end.

Hagrid's massive fingers pull a billowy dark purple curtain to the side. His eyes scan the bland cobblestone wall that was curiously hidden behind it.

With three taps of the tip of his umbrella against the surface, the bricks begin to part like the Red Sea. Each brick is invisibly shoved to the side, perfectly stacking into each other like Legos.

My mouth hangs agape in amazement.

"Let's get on then!" Hagrid casually steps through the other side of the wall.

I make sure to watch my step, cancelling out the chance of clumsily tripping through a fucking portal.

My surroundings rapidly change; from the inside of a dull dreary pub to the quaintest, most uniquely beautiful town I've ever seen.

And that was saying a lot, as I've seen a large majority of the world.

Well, sort of.

Mum and dad were required to drag me around with them when I was younger while travelling. You know, before I had the ability to stay home and trash their house with parties.

I was only allowed to view the cities we visited through hotel windows, and was required to stay in the room for the duration of our trips.

Too 'troublesome' of a child to experience the free world.

I bring my attention back to the cobblestone wall that I successfully don't trip through. It had teleported us into a completely different area.

A completely different world.

The endless alley is filled with a swarm of people dressed in similar attire as wizards and witches from the movies. Draping robes, lengthy coats, pointed hats.

I momentarily wonder to myself if they're even wearing trousers beneath their robes. The second I make eye contact with an older gentleman, however, I shudder and force that question from my mind.

A numerous amount of tiny gift shops line each side, each uniquely shaped and designed perfectly in place. A trail of kids run past us giggling with hands chock full of different colored candies.

The warmth of the bright sun graces my skin. I lightly shiver as goose bumps swarm my arms and legs.

It was the first time in my life that I felt truly euphoric. The first time I felt at home.

The first time I felt that I belonged.

But if I'm required to wear a robe at this school.. I'm fucking wearing trousers.

I choose to withhold the roster of questions lined up in my brain as I'd quickly come to learn that Hagrid wasn't the best with his words. It was best to just sit back and enjoy the crazy, magical ride he had generously led me on.

And I had the innate feeling that this was only the beginning.

"Diagon Alley." He finally answers the unspoken question turning to me. "Beautiful, ain't it?"

I nod my head frivolously. The grin plastered across my face and untamed eyesight gives me the appearance of a kid in a candy store. A majestic, brilliant, magical candy store.

"I'll meet 'yeh here. This is where 'yeh get 'yer wand." He points to the gift shop on his left that has the outward appearance of a quaint library.

"Where are you going?" I ask with a sudden wave of jitters.

"Gringott's Bank. I have 'teh pick somethin' up fer.." I watch the wheels visibly turn in his head as he slowly says, ".. Fer Dumbledore." He gradually nods his head while his eyes dart left and right.

From the little bit that I had gathered, Dumbledore is the headmaster at Hogwarts University. The wizard of all wizards. One of the wisest and most powerful to ever roam the Earth.

Basically, someone I never wanted to fuck around with.

Surely, Hagrid was hiding something.. but if it involved Dumbledore, it quite frankly was none of my business.

I eventually obey his orders and make my way into the tiny shop. A bell above the door jingles upon my entry. I'm faced with an older man, probably in his mid 70's, with eccentric white hair and light stubble. His eyes widen once they lock on me. The crazed look in his eye reminds me of that of a mad scientist.

I smirk with an intimidated nod while slowly backing away.

"Mr. Potter!" The elderly man places both palms on the counter leaning forward.

My eyebrows raise in curiosity instinctively looking behind both shoulders. It takes a few seconds to register that the man was in fact speaking to me.

I still hadn't gotten used to the whole 'Potter' thing.

"Hello," I awkwardly reply. I halt the backward progression of my feet as the front door hits the back of my sneakers.

"Please, please, come in!" His friendly smile lures me deeper into the shop. I inch closer, enthralled by what appears to be millions of thin shoe boxes messily aligned behind him.

I patiently wait as I watch the man excitedly spin on his heels. He mutters under his breath while hoisting himself on a mobile ladder that slides between the aisles of mystery boxes. "Here we are!" One comes flying my way as he tosses it to the surface before me. The ladder clanks as it slides to his next destination. "And another one!" he joyfully adds, launching another one onto the counter.

I nervously crack my knuckles, unsure of what to do with my hands. So I shove them in my pockets.

"Well, don't just stand there, my boy. Try them on for a size!"

My fingers tenderly explore the top of the velvety black box. I lift the lid to find an approximately 10-inch, intricately and uniquely crafted stunning wand.

After receiving another encouraging nod from the man, I gently pick it up between my index and thumb.

The dumb smile on my face is impossible to detain. I point the wand at my destination before assertively flicking my wrist.

The targeted ladder before me viciously slams to one side throwing the elderly man to the ground. The wand slips between my fingers and rattles against the ground.

"Well, don't point it at me!" he scolds.

"S-Sorry." Both of my hands sky rocket above my shoulders as I make my way behind the counter. I help him to his feet, grimacing at the flustered expression directed back at me. "Sorry," I repeat. His lack of response cues me into the fact that I had already successfully pissed off my first wizard.

Great.

I notice his wild eyes are quickly distracted by something rolling along the floor. My attention now joins his, curious as to what was making the rattling noise beneath us.

The wand that I had just assaulted the old man with rolls across the floor and jolts against a stray dusty box in the corner. It's behavior is lively and spastic, like my parents dog when it begged for food from the dinner table. The tail end of the wand impatiently taps against the box over and over before lifelessly collapsing to the floor.

"It can't be." The shopkeeper creeps his way to the pointed-out corner. He kneels down picking up the juvenile, now motionless, wand placing it in his pocket. Still crouched next to the neglected box, he peers up at me with a fascinated, almost disappointed expression.

After pursing his lips and sending several specks of dust across the shop, he wordlessly hands over the box.

I accept his offer much more cautiously this time.

There's a warm sensation emanating from within the box that rushes up my right arm. For a brief moment I become light headed followed by an intense adrenaline rush. My fingers delicately trace the uniquely embroidered snake across the velvet exterior.

I do a quick double take between he and the content in hand, desperate for another reassuring head nod.

Some indication that I was headed in the right direction.

But I never receive it.

The shopkeeper remains stubbornly silent. His previous boisterous and kooky attitude had turned to pensive and inquisitive.

I finally gain the gumption to open the box.

Some sort of invisible laser beam ejects from within directly piercing my right eyeball. I yell out in pain cupping my hand over my face. As the box drops to the floor, the perilous wand eagerly levitates into my free hand.

"Fascinating," the shopkeeper speaks slowly standing to his feet. "The brother wand to this one was once owned by.."

I place my both hands on my knees, the wand still grasped in one hand, as I try to catch my breath.

The pain had substantially dissipated.

Unfortunately, my eye sight had too.

I wince as I gain focus of the now warped, infrared elder man before me.

Avoiding the risk of being looked at like the freak that I am, I cover my ugly bum eye.

"Owned by who?" I ask in an attempt to divert the attention from my mutant eyeball.

He leans forward before whispering, "He who must not be named."

"What's holdin' 'yeh up, Harry?" Hagrid's deep voice startles us. I turn with my palm still held flat against the right side of my face.

I glance at the wand lightly vibrating in hand. "I was just-"

"He was just finishing up," the storekeeper interjects. "Good to see you, Hagrid." He firmly grabs my shoulder twisting my body toward his. "We've found your wand, Mr. Potter."

"Wait, what?"

It's not as if there weren't several thousand other options to choose from. Maybe a better option would be one that didn't incite agonizing pain or temporarily distort my vision?

"I don't like this one."

Lowering my right hand at a snail's pace, I'm delighted to find that my vision had returned to normal. Everything was back in color with perfect definition.

"We do not choose the wand. The wand chooses us," the man informs with a friendly nod. "It was a pleasure in meeting you, Mr. Potter."

"Ay! How 'bout we go get yeh a new pet, eh? Fer yer birthday!" Hagrid boisterously offers. "How 'bout a frog, er an owl-"

"I've always fancied a snake," I eagerly reply. "Mum would never allow such an ugly creature in her house.. but I find them fascinating."

"A snake?!" The frustrated speculation is plastered across the giants face. "Well, that's no pet fer a wizard!" he harshly lectures.

Hagrid places an enormous hand on my back leading me toward the door. "See yeh around, Mr. Olivander."

I place the retched wand in my back pocket as we near the exit.

"Mr. Potter?" The shopkeeper calls after me. I look over my shoulder stopping in place.

Mr. Olivander peers at me with a disturbed expression that would burn into my memory forever.

"Please, do be careful."