Chapter 3
Diagon Alley

Diagon Alley was a place that I could have never dreamt up even in my wildest imagination. This magical shopping center had everything from a bookstore to a cauldron shop to an Owl Emporium. We also passed by a broom shop surrounded by a group of boys around my age gawking at the display in the window. Something about it being the fastest broom in the world.

The biggest building in the shopping center by far was a glossy white building, which Hagrid announced as Gringrotts. We entered through the towering bronze doors, amazed. Inside the bank were a bunch of short creatures with pointed beards and long fingers and feet. Honestly, they didn't look like the friendliest of creatures. These must be the goblins.

Harry and I lingered behind Hagrid as he approached a free goblin at one of the counters. "Hello. Mr. Harry Potter and Miss Lydia Black wishes ter make a withdrawal," he said to the goblin. The goblin peered behind the giant man and looked at us, seemingly very unimpressed.

"Do you have their keys, sir?"

"Got it here somewhere."

Hagrid dug through his deep pockets, filled with literally everything (except for maybe a comb), until he found what he was looking for. He held up two small golden keys. "Oh," he continued, handing a letter to the creature, "I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore. It's about the You-Know-What in vault seven an' thirteen."

Well, that was suspicious.

The goblin took the letter and read through it carefully. "Very well," he said, handing it back to Hagrid, "I will have someone take you down to the vaults. Griphook!" Another goblin, presumably Griphook, beckoned us to follow and we trailed after him.

"What is the You-Know-What in seven thirteen?" Harry asked. Hagrid paused.

"Can't tell yeh that," he answered. "Very secret Hogwarts business."

The narrow stone passageway that Griphook led us to was lit with torches lining the sides of the walls. Griphook whistled and a small cart zoomed up to us within seconds. Harry and I climbed in easily, while Hagrid had a bit more difficulty than us small children.

The cart almost made me sick, with its speed and several lurches in every direction. I wasn't the only one; Hagrid looked very green. He was trembling by the time we arrived at our first vault. Griphook called Harry over and he unlocked the door to the vault. The sight before us made my best friend and me gasp. Piles of gold, silver and bronze were nearly touching the high ceiling.

"Mate, you're rich!" I exclaimed.

My vault was the next stop. It only took about a minute to get there, but the cart did have to chug up a rather steep hill. It was better than going down at least.

"There's no way I've got as much as you, Harry. Looks like you're gonna be the one buying us ice cream," I joked, making Harry smile. It was true though. I really didn't think I would have as much as he did. I mean, his parents actually cared about him. Why would mine leave me anything?

Griphook unlocked my vault with the small key and pushed it open.

"Actually, I think ice cream's on you, Lyd," Harry stated while we took in the sight.

Whatever money Harry had in his vault, I seemed to have twice as much. Wide eyed, I stared at the contents of my vault before turning to Hagrid with an amazed expression.

"This is all mine?" I gaped.

"Sure is," the giant said.

"But why would my parents leave me this much? This doesn't make any sense, Hagrid."

"Well, I said before tha' the Blacks are a very old wizardin' family," Hagrid answered. I couldn't help but notice that he was avoiding my actual question. "Lots o' money handed down."

"But—"

"We best get movin'!" Hagrid interrupted abruptly. "We still got lots ter buy!"

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Begrudgingly, I loaded up another bag Hagrid had brought with the coins from my vault, making sure to grab a good variety of each coin.

We hopped in the cart for the final stop—Hagrid's mysterious vault— and off we went, racing down the track at lightning speeds.

Vault seven thirteen looked just like the others except that it had no keyhole. Instead, Griphook stroked it with one long finger and it melted away as if it were butter.

"If anyone ever tried that but a Gringrotts goblin, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped there," informed Griphook.

"How often do you check to see if anyone's inside?" Harry asked him curiously.

"About once every ten years," responded Griphook nastily. I shuddered. When Hagrid emerged from the vault, he was holding a dusty, brown package. A small one at that. It really didn't seem like much. I longed to know what importance it had, but pushed back my question and sighed to myself. I knew I wasn't going to get an answer if I asked.

I glanced excitedly around the shops once we were outside, my money bag feeling heavy in my hand. There were so many things to see that I didn't know where to go! Hagrid suggested that we get our uniforms first considering Madam Malkin's Robes for all Occasions was next to us.

Hagrid had left us to go into the shop alone, heading off towards the Leaky Cauldron once again. Harry and I glanced quickly at each other and headed in side by side. Madam Malkin was a small, happy witch and she greeted us at the door when we arrived.

"Hogwarts, dear?" she asked before either of us could speak. "Got a lot coming down here—in fact, another young man is being fitted up just now."

I looked to the back of the shop and sure enough, there was a pale blonde boy getting fitted for his own robes. I normally was fairly confident and outgoing around others, but I couldn't help but feel a little nervous this time. This was another magic kid that was my age. I hoped desperately that magic children weren't just the same as all Muggle children I'd met. It'd be nice for Harry and me to finally make another friend.

Madam Malkin led us to him, standing us to either side of him. Madam Malkin began fixing Harry's robes herself, while a third witch helped with mine.

"Hello," greeted the boy. "Hogwarts too?" I nodded.

"Yes," Harry replied.

"My father's next door buying my books and my mother's up the street looking for wands," he continued, sounding almost bored. I frowned. There was something off-putting about him. "Then I'm going to drag them off to go 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."

I rolled my eyes heavily. Nope, I didn't like him one bit. So much for making a new friend.

"Have either of you got your own broom?" he asked.

"Nope, not yet," I replied for the both of us.

"Do you play Quidditch at all?"

"No," Harry said. What the heck was a Quidditch?

"I do—father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

Harry repeated his answer and I shook my head no. I felt kind of stupid and I knew that Harry did as well by the look on his face.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family has been—Imagine being in Hufflepuff. I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

The boy clearly wasn't getting the hint that my best friend and I were clueless.

"I honestly don't know," I said through gritted teeth, annoyed. "In case you had any more questions, we don't know anything about Hogwarts, sorry to disappoint."

If the boy was affected at all by my sudden rudeness, he didn't show it. Instead, he peered at us judgingly.

"You're Muggle-borns?"

"Meaning?"

The boy's eyes narrowed further. "Your parents weren't our kind?"

"They had magic if that's what you mean," I snapped. "Same with his parents," I added, gesturing to Harry. Harry was looking on somewhat awkwardly, not knowing how to contribute to the argument.

"Then why don't you know anything of Hogwarts?" the boy retorted. Before I could answer, he paused, a sort of realization. "Hang on, you actually look really familiar. What's your surname?"

I was saved when Hagrid appeared at the doorway to the robe shop, ice creams in hand. The boy gaped at him.

"That's Hagrid," Harry chimed in. "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, for your information," I said, unable to contain my dislike for this boy.

"Well, 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," the boy smirked, clearly thinking he was ever-so smart.

"I think he's brilliant," Harry said coldly, finally letting on just how much the boy was getting to him as well.

"He's been showing us around this whole time," I stated. "And from what it seems like, the Headmaster seems to trust him a whole lot."

The boy scoffed. "So he's with you? Why? Where are your parents?"

"They're dead," said Harry shortly.

"I don't know mine," I hissed.

The boy was perplexed. "So you two aren't brother and sister, but both come from magical families and yet have no idea about the magic world. Who are you?"

I glared. "As if it's really any of your business."

Suddenly, a light seemed to flicker in the boy's eyes. A rather dignified smirk grew on his cold face. "I know exactly who you are," he grinned in a cold, calculating way. I turned up my nose at the look on his face. "So the last Black heir has finally come to Hogwarts. Which means…" the boy trailed off, this time looking at Harry with a look of realization.

At long last, the witches had finished our robes, saving Harry from the unwanted attention that he was undoubtedly about to receive.

"It was not nice to meet you, goodbye," I sneered at the boy, jumping down from the footstool as fast as I could and pulling Harry by the sleeve. "Come on, Harry."

"I really hope all the kids at Hogwarts aren't like that," Harry commented once we were away from the boy.

"What a snot-nosed brat," I scowled in agreement.

"Hope you don' mean me," Hagrid said, handing me one of the ice cream cones he'd bought, and giving the other to Harry.

"That boy in there," I corrected, gesturing to the robe shop. Hagrid peered inside. "He didn't seem to approve very much of 'Muggle-borns'."

"Well, I don' know fer sure but tha' boy looks like he could be old Lucius Malfoy's kid. Piece o' work, tha' Lucius is," Hagrid said gruffly, leading us away from the shop. "Anyway, what does he know about it? Some o' the best I ever saw were the only ones with magic in 'em in a long line o' Muggles — look at yer mum, Harry! Look what she had fer a sister! And yer mum too, Lydia."

My interest peaked at that. "My mum was Muggle-born?" I asked, thirsty for information. Hagrid simply nodded.

Our next stop was Flourish and Blotts, the bookshop I had spotted on the way to Gringrotts. It was filled with the strangest books I had ever seen. We purchased our school books quickly, but before we left, a book filled with magical pranks and curses caught my eye. I admired it, thinking of the ways I could get back at Dudley and the Dursleys. Maybe I'd even use one of the pranks on the boy in the robe shop. I called Harry over, who admired it with me. Hagrid wouldn't let us buy it, explaining to Harry and me that we were not allowed to use magic outside of school in the muggle world and that most of them were advanced curses beyond our level.

I snuck one off the shelf anyway, purchasing it swiftly before Hagrid noticed I was gone.

We moseyed down the packed streets of Diagon Alley, purchasing the rest of our school supplies from various shops until all that was left was our wands.

"Here's Ollivanders, bes' wand shop there is. Let's get yer wands. An' I have ter get yer birthday presents."

"Hagrid, it's okay. You don't have to get us anything," I assured. Harry quickly agreed.

"Really, it's fine."

"I know I don't have to. Tell yeh what; I'll get yeh both an animal. How about an owl? They're extremely useful," he said kindly, ignoring our protests. Within twenty minutes, we emerged from the Owl Emporium, with me carrying a small, yet very cute black barn owl and Harry a gorgeous snowy owl. I never, ever in my life thought I would have any pet, let alone a pet owl.

Our last stop was the small wand shop named OIlivanders that seemed more like a library to me. Boxes upon boxes of wands lined the towering shelves. I thought the owner was gone until a voice behind Harry and I spoke softly, greeting us. An old man was suddenly before us, his wide, pale eyes shining.

"Good afternoon," he said in a dreamy sort of voice.

Hello," I greeted the unusual man.

"Ah yes," said Mr. Ollivander, eyeing Harry. "Yes, I thought I'd be seeing you really soon. Harry Potter." He looked very closely at him. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems like only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Excellent work for Charms."

"You're father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable, excellent for Transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it— it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

The air turned tense as the wandmaker moved impossibly closer to Harry. Reflexively, I bristled. I knew logically that this man was no one to be defensive of, but it was instinct for me at this point. I just wanted to protect Harry. And myself, for that matter.

I clenched my fist, forcing myself to stay calm as Ollivander reached out to touch Harry's scar with his long finger.

"I'm sorry to say that I sold the wand that did that," 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…"

Harry looked very awkward. Luckily, Hagrid came to the rescue once again. Ollivander finally noticed the giant and greeted him happily, talking about Hagrid's own wand. Hagrid had apparently gotten expelled from Hogwarts, so it had been snapped in two. I had a feeling that the pieces were in that umbrella of his.

Ollivander turned to me next. "And what is your name?"

"I'm Lydia."

"And Lydia, do you have a last name?" He smiled at me. His silver eyes shone brightly, trying to assess who I could be related to.

"Black."

He somehow looked surprised and yet unsurprised at the same time. I felt my guard go up again under his close supervision.

"So you're the child of—"

He broke off, glancing behind me. I followed his gaze to Hagrid, who pretended like he'd done nothing. As much as I liked Hagrid, I would be lying if I said I wasn't very frustrated by his constant censorship when it came to anything regarding my parents. I huffed, turning back to Ollivander.

"I remember your parents very well too, Miss Black. Your father's wand was an excellent wand for Transfiguration, similar to Mr. Potter's father. 15 inches. Spruce. Dragon Heartstring. Your mother's was different, a strong wand. Rowan, hippogriff talon. Performed very nicely with defensive spells."

I didn't know what to make of this. It'd probably be more significant if I had any knowledge at all about wands.

"Hmm—well now," Ollivander finished after explaining the wands, "we'll start with Mr. Potter. Which is your wand arm?"

"Er—well—I'm right handed," Harry replied nervously, not sure of this.

Mr. Ollivander took to measuring Harry and handing him several different wands. Each was snatched out of his hand almost the second it was given to him. Finally one wand—holly and phoenix feather—clicked, sparks flying out of the end once he held it.

"Woah," I said, excited for my turn.

"How curious…how very, very curious…" Ollivander muttered as he started on my measurements.

"Sorry," Harry said, "but what's curious?

Ollivander looked at him, eyes wide and a little bit haunting. He explained how a wand made from the same material as the one that had chosen Harry was the wand that gave him his scar.

Harry and I both got very confused after that. Hagrid, of course, had told us earlier that James and Lily Potter had definitely not died in a car crash and rather some form of magical disaster, but he failed to explain exactly what happened. From what it sounded like from Ollivander, someone had murdered them.

Ollivander went through the same wand routine with me as he did Harry. He handed me an assorted variety of wands, all interesting but never quite right.

"I've got it!" he exclaimed finally, pulling a final box off a high shelf. "This is the one! Ten inches; cedar, unicorn horn. A wand like this admires a loyal, yet strong owner."

The wand was beautiful. It was dark brown with engraved spirals. I hesitantly took it. The second my fingers brushed the smooth wood of the wand, it buzzed under my skin. There were no sparks like the kind that had come out of Harry's, but instead the wand emitted a kind of contented hum. I instantly knew that this wand was the one for me.

With our wands all set, Harry and I paid seven Galleons each and finally left.

It was late afternoon by the time we headed back to the Leaky Cauldron, which was now blissfully empty. We passed through it and headed out onto the streets of London. Hagrid let us get something to eat before our train came.

There were many questions still bothering me. Harry was clearly very famous in this world, though neither of us had any idea why. And while Harry was definitely more recognized, people did know me.

As it seemed, Harry had many questions as well.

"Hagrid," Harry started, "why is it that people know me? You said that my parents were famous. That I was famous. Why?"

"Yeah, I want to know too," I said, backing Harry up.

Hagrid looked unsure and started playing with his beard nervously. "Harry, I don' know if I'm the right person ter tell yeh —"

Harry and I stared, silently urging Hagrid to tell us. At the looks on our faces, Hagrid gave in.

"—but someone's gotta — yeh can't go off ter Hogwarts not knowin'."

I listened closely as Hagrid explained the whole story, becoming more and more amazed and horrified by the second. Apparently, a wizard by the feared name of Voldemort started gaining power and influence. One night ten years ago, he targeted Harry's parents and easily murdered them. But when he tried to kill Harry, he couldn't. Harry was merely left with his lightning scar while Voldemort disappeared. It was some big mystery. But because of his defeat of the most evil wizard who'd ever lived, Harry's name had been marked in wizard history.

I watched Harry's face as we learned this new info. His eyebrows furrowed, and I could tell that a mess of emotions were going on within him. I gently put a hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him in any way I could.

Harry frowned deeply, pushing away his half eaten burger. "Everyone thinks I'm special," he said at last. "All those people in the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Mr. Ollivander... but I don't know anything about magic at all. How can they expect great things? 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."

"Oh, don' you worry, Harry. You'll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you'll be just fine. Just be yerself. I know it's hard, but yeh'll have a great time at Hogwarts."

I smirked at him, squeezing his shoulder. "At least we'll be clueless together. Let's see which one of us makes a fool out of ourselves first," I joked. This made Harry smile.

Now that Harry's story had been shared, I felt a renewed determination and thirst for knowledge. I couldn't sit on it any longer.

"Okay Hagrid. My turn," I said. The uncomfortable look Hagrid had before immediately returned. "I know you said it wasn't your place to tell me, but people know me. You called me the 'Black heir', but what does that mean? And why…"

I bit my lip.

"Why do some people look at me like… like I'm vermin? It's like I'm no better than a bloody cockroach or something. Please Hagrid, I need to know."

Hagrid looked at me for a long time before sighing in defeat.

"Alrigh'. Alrigh'. But I'm only goin' ter tell yeh a lil bit," he said conditionally. I nodded eagerly, sitting so close to the edge of my seat that I nearly fell off. "Tha' same night, the same night Harry's parents died… ah, well, see it's hard fer me to say it 'cause I was there, I saw him an' I didn' even…"

Hagrid trailed off, looking distraught.

"Saw who, Hagrid?" I asked. Harry was looking on curiously as well.

"Tha' night I saw yer father jus' before he went an' blew up a street o' Muggles. One curse, that's all it took. There was a wizard too, mos' likely who he was aiming fer but all those poor Muggles got trapped in the way. He's been locked away in Azkaban since— the wizard prison," Hagrid explained slowly. My body felt frozen. "That's how people know yeh, Lydia. Yer father is, to this day, one of the most infamous murderers in wizard history."

My mouth felt dry. I tried to form words but couldn't get my vocal chords to cooperate. Harry had taken my hand in his at some point but I barely felt it. It couldn't be true.

Hagrid looked very guilty, but still, he continued. "Apart from tha', yer also a Black. The last one as a matter o' fact."

"The last?" I forced out, voice barely above a whisper.

"I said before but the Blacks are a very very old magic family. Ancestors go way back ter the Middle Ages. The las' few births in the Black line before yeh were almost all girls so they didn' pass on the name. But yeh, Lydia, are the last child carryin' the name 'Black'. Legacy like tha' bound to stir up some 'ttention too."

My head buzzed with the information. Hagrid might have been right before to not tell me. I felt sick. I didn't know what to say, what to do. I'm the daughter of a murderer? Not just a simple criminal, but literally a mass murderer. I felt unclean, I felt wrong.

Not sure if I actually wanted to know the answer, I asked, "And what about my mother? If my father did… that, then what did she do?"

Hagrid's expression drastically lightened. "Yer mother? Oh, well she didn' do nothin'."

I furrowed my eyebrows. "What?"

"Yer mother a killer? Never," Hagrid scoffed, as if the very idea offended him. "Yer mother's a wonderful lady. Always was kind, always was gen'rous. Loved creatures, jus' like me." Hagrid's face fell slightly. "But unfortunately, lot of folk believe her guilty 'cause of what yer father did. Minister never believed her story."

For the first time, I felt hopeful.

"She's innocent?" Harry asked curiously, giving my hand a small squeeze. "She's not in Azki—the prison?"

"Azkaban?" Hagrid corrected, and shook his big head firmly. "No. She's as innocent as can be. Course even though she's not in Azkaban, lot of folk believe she should be. After yer father did… what he did, yer mother lost her job, lost you, lost everything. Poor lady…"

Hagrid shook his head sadly.

So my mother was out there somewhere, alive and innocent. Why hadn't she come to see me? Why did I grow up with the Dursleys, of all people? There were so many more questions, but I didn't know if I could take any more.

We were all quiet for a moment. Then, with a small defeated smile, I asked, "You can't tell me who she is can you?"

Hagrid's frown was all the answer I needed.

"Sorry I had ter be the one ter tell yeh all tha'."

"It's okay," I assured in a small voice. "Thanks for telling me."

Hagrid smiled at me genuinely, eyes twinkling. I still felt rather nauseous and overwhelmed. "We bes' get goin'. Yer train's almos' here."

I stood from the table shakily and followed Hagrid. Harry stayed by my side, looking very concerned over me. I couldn't help but feel guilty even being near him. My best friend was Harry Potter, a boy who became a hero as a baby. And then there was me, the murderer's daughter.

Hagrid helped us on the train and handed Harry and me each an envelope. "Yer ticket fer Hogwarts," he said. "Firs' o' September—King's Cross—it's all on yer ticket. If either of yeh have any problems with the Dursleys, send me a letter with one o' yer owls, they'll both know where to find me…See you soon, Harry, Lydia."

On this last word, the train pulled out of the station. Harry and I pressed against the window to try to watch Hagrid as the train left. But when we blinked, he was gone.

"I'm going to miss him," I stated, sitting back down. Harry stared out the window, smiled and turned to face me again.

"So will I," he agreed.

A heaviness settled between us, something that had never happened before. Harry rubbed his head near his scar, perturbed.

"I think I remember him. The one that did this. Voldemort," Harry broke the silence, his voice quiet and troubled. I looked at him in surprise.

"What?"

"I didn't until Hagrid was telling us the story about my parents. I just— there was a green light. And a laugh. A really creepy laugh. I think it's his."

He was still rubbing near his scar, avoiding my gaze. I switched seats to plop down next to him, grabbing his wrist away from his forehead.

"I don't think I'm worthy of all this attention. Whatever I did when I was a baby, I dunno how I did it. People keep treating me like I'm a hero, but really I'm just some kid with dead parents."

I frowned, hitting him gently in the arm. "Oi! You're so much more than that. Hero or not, you're Harry freaking Potter. That's cool enough for me."

Harry rolled his eyes good-naturedly, smiling. I smiled back, but it didn't quite reach my eyes. Harry quickly understood why.

"I don't think any differently of you. I know that's what you're thinking," Harry said softly. "No matter what your dad did, you're not him. And you never will be."

I wanted to be reassured by his words, but I couldn't shake the dreadful feeling. I forced myself to smile at my best friend, leaning against his shoulder.

"Thanks, four-eyes."

Harry shoved me playfully, and we willfully tried to forget the horrible stuff we'd learned about our families as our train trudged on back to the Dursleys.

~o~