Undo, Retry
Chapter
3
by Olafr -
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and associated milieu, characters, and situations are owned by J.K. Rowling and her licensees. This is a work of fan fiction, produced solely for enjoyment. No infringement of rights is intended.
Rating: PG (so far)
Last updated: 13 December 2004.
Author's Notes: Diagon Alley
oOoOoOo
After almost getting lost at Waterloo – it turned out that not only did he have to change trains, he had to change stations, something that involved a ten-minute walk – Harry made it to Charing Cross Station. He stepped out of the train and made his way down the stairs off the platform and found himself in a tunnel with Exit signs at each end. Taking a chance, he turned left and could see nobody recognisable. Retracing his steps, he went to the other side of the station and there, in the plaza, he saw a lady he recognised holding a sign which said, Hogwarts. It as Professor McGonagall. He made his way through the crowd to her without her noticing.
'Hello,' he said, 'I'm Harry Potter.'
oOoOoOo
Minerva McGonagall looked around herself, trying to spot Harry in the milling crowd of near-rush proportions. The effort was futile, she knew; eleven-year-old children would be completely invisible in the crush of adults that clogged the main part of the station.
'Hello,' said a young but self-assured voice, 'I'm Harry Potter.'
Looking down, Minerva saw a miniature James Potter smiling up at her, right down to the thick, perennially-messy hair the colour of India ink. He was dressed comfortably in blue jeans, white sneakers, a dark red polo shirt, and a coffee-coloured, waist-length light jacket. The black strap of a daypack looped over one shoulder and he appeared to be both healthy and happy.
'Well! Mr Potter, I'm Professor Minerva McGonagall.' She put out her hand, which Harry duly shook. Her hand tingled, just a little, as they touched. She suppressed her surprise at the sensation, keeping her face professional.
'How do you do, Professor.'
'Mr Potter – Harry – I'm sure you have quite a few questions, but I it would be best if you were to hold onto them for a just a little while. I will be very happy to answer all your questions later, I assure you.'
Harry nodded, a slightly puzzled expression on his face, and Minerva smiled in gratitude. She then looked up to see two other people heading her way across the flow of the crowd – a mother and, judging by the gap in the crowd, her child. Looking down at Harry, who had not spotted the approaching pair due to his lower height, she said, 'Well, Mr Potter, it appears we'll be on our way shortly.' She looked up again, and smiled in welcome. 'Good day to you, Helen. And to you as well, Hermione.'
Surprised, Harry looked about, and finally spotted a very young-looking Hermione standing mostly behind her mother. She saw him looking, and smiled at him hesitantly. Harry felt his heart leap, a joyous frisson that one of the people he had missed most in the world was once again with him. He could not help the brilliant smile he gave as he stepped forward, holding out his right hand. 'Hello, I'm Harry,' he said. 'Harry Potter.' He was delighted when Hermione smiled back, somewhat hesitantly. She stepped forward and took his hand, squaring her shoulders and raising her chin unconsciously.
'I'm Hermione Granger,' she said clearly, in round, almost plummy tones, eloquent of elocution lessons. 'Charmed.'
'Well, now that we're all here, let's begin,' said McGonagall. 'We'll begin by going to the Leaky Cauldron, which is the main method of getting to Diagon Alley from the Muggle world. Inside the Leaky Cauldron we'll spend a little while going over some simple rules, and then we'll go on to Diagon Alley itself. So, if you'll follow me...?'
They walked from the station, down a block and then turned left and proceeded straight for a couple of blocks. As they walked, Helen Granger and Minerva McGonagall gravitated together, so Harry natually walked with Hermione. He very much wanted to talk to her, but he wasn't quite sure how to open the conversation. Eventually, Hermione surprised him by speaking in that forthright manner of hers.
'Your mother isn't joining us?' she said suddenly. Harry looked at her, his smile quelled, and shook his head.
'No. I live with my aunt and uncle. My parents were killed when I was one.'
Hermione looked taken aback, almost aghast. 'I'm sorry,' she said. Harry shook his head.
'That's okay. It's not like I remember them.' He looked up at Helen Granger's back. She was speaking at the moment, her features very similar to his memory of the older Hermione. 'Your mother seems nice,' he said, a little wistfully.
Hermione smiled at him, a little uncertain, then forged onwards fearlessly. 'Did you know you were magical before you received your letter?' she asked. Harry nodded.
'Yes. Well, I mean, I knew I could make things happen. My aunt and uncle aren't, though. Magical, I mean. How about you?'
'No, not really. I mean, there were accidents, and I used to get in trouble for... well, I never knew it was my fault, really. Mum and dad were ever so pleased to get the letter, really.'
Harry jerked in surprise. 'Why is that?' Surely Hermione's parents weren't like the Dursleys.... Hermione glanced at him.
'Oh, no, nothing like that. It was just... well, both my parents are dentists, you see, and they're used to there being a reason for everything. When the letter came, it meant there was a reason for all the odd things that had been happening. You know?' Harry nodded wordlessly, and Hermione plunged on. 'What about your... aunt and uncle, you said? Were they glad to get the letter?'
Harry gulped, and nodded. 'I suppose so,' he said. 'They never really said. It's not like they really like having me around. They just tolerate me, I guess.'
'Oh! They don't... um... they don't, do they?'
Shaking his head vigorously and putting up his hands defensively, Harry replied, 'No! No, at least not recently. Not since I learned to get it under control, anyway.'
Hermione stared at Harry. 'You learned how to get your magic under control?'
Harry nodded. 'Yeah. I made myself a wand, when I was six, you see. I'd been turning my uncle's hair green and skin blue, that kind of thing. It just came to me that perhaps if I had a wand it wouldn't get out of control and maybe I'd be able to do something useful rather than annoying them and making them punish me. So I made a wand and tried really hard, and--.'
'You say you have managed to bring your magic under your conscious control, Mr Potter?' put in Professor McGonagall. Harry ran into Mrs Granger and bounced off her hip, only just maintaining his balance. After he sorted himself out, Harry looked up to see the Professor looking down at him, greatly surprised.
'Yes, Professor.'
'Did anyone give you any books on magic, or that kind of thing?'
'No, Professor,' said Harry.
'You said you had made yourself a wand?'
'Yes, Professor.' He went to get it out, but Professor McGonagall held out her hand in a 'keep it' gesture.
'Never mind, Harry,' she said, now in a more kindy voice. 'We were going to have to stop in a Ollivander's anyway, but I can see that now we will have something to do there other than simply purchasing wands.' With that she turned and continued leading the way.
When they were walking again, Hermione asked, 'Can you show me how?'
Harry nodded, smiling again. 'I'd be glad to.'
'Good. I really want to learn everything I can. I mean, it's really not fair. Kids who grow up with wizard parents must know ever so much by the time they go to Hogwarts.'
'I'm sure you're right. Let's read up on it together?' Harry half-asked, tentatively trying to build a relationship with his once best friend.
At that moment Professor McGonagall stopped once again, this time in front of a dingy, run-down pub. The windows were painted over and an old, blackened sign proclaimed The Leaky Cauldron.
'Harry, Hermione, take a good look around so you remember where this is. Non-magical people can't see the Leaky Cauldron, so Hermione, you will have to lead your parents to the door whenever they wish to bring you here. Once they are inside they will have no difficulty, however.'
Following her instructions, Harry and Hermione looked around, memorising the surrounding shops. Then, without another word, Professor McGonagall opened the door and led the way inside, tugging Helen Granger, who had her eyes closed, along behind her. The children followed her, and Harry allowed the heavy wooden door to thud closed behind him.
Inside, the Leaky Cauldron was very old-fashioned. It was dim and there was a faint overtone of smoke and beer, although the smell was not overpowering as it could be in Muggle pubs. Even at this time of the morning there were a number of patrons sitting at tables, either huddled in conversation or just waiting. Harry brushed his hair forward over his scar, hoping to avoid the hullabaloo that had eventuated last time.
'Good morning, Professor,' called the bartender. 'Another year already?'
Professor McGonagall smiled tolerantly. 'Yes, that's right, Tom. Is the room ready?'
'Yes, just as always. You know the way.'
'Thank you, Tom.'
Conversations had quieted during the half-shouted conversation, and now that the attention of the patrons had been captured, Harry tensed, waiting for the inevitable to occur.
'Bless my soul, it's Harry Potter!' rang out a clear, contralto voice. Harry winced internally. Trust Doris Crockford not to miss a trick. Playing his part, Harry looked around wildly, settling on a hunch-backed old crone who moved surprisingly spryly. She held out a hand in greeting. 'Doris Crockford, Mr Potter. It's a real pleasure to meet you.' Harry shook her hand numbly, then she was replaced by another person, a grizzled old man with muttonchop whiskers.
'Daedalus Diggle, Mr Potter. It's an honour.' Again Harry shook hands, this time looking up to Professor McGonagall in near-panic that was not totally faked.
'That will be quite enough!' rang out McGonagall's voice. 'Mr Potter has been raised by his Muggle relatives, since he lost his parents at a very young age as you no doubt all know. He therefore knows nothing of the Wizarding world, so please allow me to familiarise Mr Potter with our world before you congratulate him for something he no doubt does not remember!'
The silence that followed that outburst was absolute, and Professor McGonagall gathered up Harry and Hermione and led them into a back room. He tried not to stare at the pink tinge that had blossomed on the Professor's cheeks as they trooped down the passageway. As the door closed behind them, Harry heard the buzz of conversation resume with a slightly shocked overtone.
The room was small, with a table and six chairs. A small fireplace sat in the corner, a fire curtain drawn tightly over its maw and the tools stacked neatly to one side. The fire would likely not be lit again until October.
'Please, take a seat,' said McGonagall with a sigh. Drawing her wand, she conjured a blackboard on the wall opposite the fireplace, near one end of the table, and transfigured her clothing back into her more normal robes. From within her robes, she drew out a galleon, a sickle, and a knut, plus an envelope which Harry suspected contained his key. Pacing these, a photograph, and a copy of the Daily Prophet on the table, she stood by the blackboard, took a deep breath, and began.
oOoOoOo
The doors to Gringott's were as imposing as ever. Harry re-read those words carved thereupon, glancing at Hermione as he finished. She raised her eyebrows at him. McGonagall observed their exchange and said, 'The Goblins do not take kindly to robbers and the like. There has never been a successful theft in the history of the bank.' She turned and led the way into the bank.
Inside, Harry allowed himself to gawk at the grandness of the marble-lined hall and the Victorian arrangement of desks. Hermione also gawked, but Helen Granger looked around with a frown on her face.
'You should not expect computers, Helen; they do not work in the presence of large amounts of magic. This system works well once you get to know your account keeper.' She paused, then asked, 'Do you think you will want to open an account? You don't have to; there is also a desk for exchange.'
'I think we'd prefer not to open an account for the time being,' said Helen.
'Very well. Well, let's get Harry sorted out first, then I will take you to the exchange desk.'
Harry decided it was time to pipe up. 'Excuse me, but what do you mean? Do I have an account here?'
McGonagall smiled down at him. 'Yes, Harry, you do. Your mother and father left you everything, of course. You will inherit the family holdings when you turn seventeen, but until then you have a vault which contains money to pay for your books and clothes and so on until you finish school. I think you'll find you have more than sufficient spending money.' She dug out the envelope he had seen earlier and handed it to him. 'This is the key to that vault. Come with me.'
Harry went with Professor McGonagall to the same desk as Hagrid had taken him to that time when he had rescued him from the Dursleys. A moment's conversation, and a goblin named Griphook was ordered to conduct him to his vault. Professor McGonagall turned to take the Grangers to the exchange desk, when Harry interrupted.
'Hermione, would you like to come with us? I've got a feeling this might be interesting.'
Helen Granger quickly looked to McGonagall, who nodded. 'You can go if you want, dear,' she said.
'Thanks, mum!' said Hermione with a smile. 'I'd love to go!'
And so it was that Griphook conducted the two children to the rather plain cart which was suspended between rails over an apparently infinite depth. Hermione made the mistake of looking down and grabbed Harry spasmodically, even more so when they started and the cart took off like a demented roller-coaster. It was several minutes before they pulled to a stop by a stone ledge. Griphook got out.
'Lamp, please,' he said. Harry unhooked the lamp from its holder, and Griphook turned it to illuminate a massive door, roughly carved in no particular pattern that Harry could recognise. 'Key, please,' prompted Griphook, and Harry handed over his key. Moments later the door eased open, and somehow the scant lamplight was multiplied as the contents of the vault were exposed in all their glittering glory.
'Wow,' breathed Hermione.
'Yeah,' added Harry. Then, stepping forward, he looked around and attempted to estimate the vault's holdings. Leaning down to scoop some coins into a bag that Professor McGonagall had given him, Harry asked, 'Mr Griphook, how do I find out how much is in this vault?'
'You ask your teller. But it appears as though there's approximately thirty thousand galleons here.'
'That's all I wanted to know. Thank you.' Finished filling his bag, Harry hooked it over his belt in the way the Professor had shown him, and looked around once again. There was nothing else in here, just money. He took Hermione's hand and led the way back to the cart.
'You're rich,' said Hermione as they waited for Griphook to lock the vault once more. She looked at him carefully.
Harry shook his head in pretended amazement. 'It's just...' He caught her look, then hurriedly added, 'I mean, I didn't mean to show off, I just thought, um.' He looked at his feet, which were perched on boards, and between which he could see into the infinite darkness beneath them. 'I'm sorry, Hermione, you probably think I'm a prat.'
She shook her head, smiling. 'Of course not, Harry. Although I'm not particularly looking forward to the ride back.' She glanced at Griphook who handed Harry his key and reboarded the cart. 'Can this thing go any slower?'
'One speed only,' said Griphook with what Harry had learned was an amused grin.
'Don't worry, Hermione, you can hang onto me if you like. Besides, I'm sure there must be something that keeps us from falling out no matter what. You can't have customers falling to their deaths. It would be bad for business.'
With that, the cart launched into motion with what Harry thought was a rather unnecessary lurch, and Harry grinned at Griphook as Hermione clutched his arm convulsively.
oOoOoOo
It was mid-afternoon by the time they got to Ollivander's. They had gone first to a luggage shop, where Harry had discovered that he could use his key directly to transfer amounts of money inconvenient to carry directly to the shopkeeper's account, and had therefore purchased a rather fancy nine-compartment trunk which just happened to look like it had only a single compartment. It had cost over seven hundred Galleons, but Harry knew that the cost was well worth it as it had built-in charms to prevent it getting too heavy no matter how much was stored within, even a whole library's worth of books and a house's worth of furniture. It also could be opened only by those whom Harry allowed, and had an exotic self-shrinking command. Mrs Granger had bought Hermione a standard student's trunk, but when Hermione had worried about how she would be able to fit the books she wanted to bring, Harry had promised space in his trunk if she needed it for any reason. A grateful Helen Granger and Hermione Granger had made him feel rather special.
After that, they had gone to Madam Malkin's, two different pet stores (including Eyelops, where Harry had grabbed Hedwig again), the apothecary for their potion supplies, and many others. After revisiting Madam Malkin's to pick up their uniforms, they had then spent far too much time in Flourish and Blotts buying their books. The set texts had taken no time at all to find, but both Harry and Hermione insisted on browsing the whole bookstore. Harry made notes of books he wanted, and upon seeing him do so Hermione started doing the same. He whispered to her that he would set up an owl order account so they could get books even while they were in Hogwarts. Hermione had snickered consipiratorially with him, and had distracted the two adult females while Harry set up the account with the clerk.
Now, it was time for the final step – acquiring their wands from Ollivander. McGonagall led the way and opened the door for them, gesturing for the children to enter first.
Stepping into the shop, Harry felt magic crawling over him like ants crawling over his skin. He flinched involuntarily, but bravely stepped forward to allow Hermione to follow him. Moving forward into the shop, he could feel Ollivander's presence. He was standing disillusioned behind his counter.
The bell rang as the door closed, and Ollivander appeared. His silver eyes stared at Harry in shocked amazement, flicked to Hermione behind him, then back to Harry.
'Well, well, well, who do we have here. If I'm not mistaken... Miss Hermione Granger, and Mr Harry Potter.' His eyes tracked over Harry and over to Hermione, wandering back and forth several times. 'Miss Granger, I see that you are the first born of your line. Would you please step forward? Which hand is to be your wand hand?'
Stepping forward past Harry, Hermione ceased her fascinated study of the endless number of boxed wands and presented herself much as she had to Harry earlier that day. 'I am right handed,' she said, once again in her plummiest tones. Harry realised then how much she had allowed her speech to drift back to a normal pattern as she had become more comfortable with him. The thought warmed him.
'Right-handed? Good, good, now please hold still while I measure you.'
Harry watched as the tape measured Hermione extensively before dropping to the floor. Ollivander had to try seven wands before a good match was found, but Hermione pronounced herself happy (actually, she was both amazed and dumbfounded at the feeling of the wand in her hand, and she let them all know so in unambiguous fashion).
Eventually, however, Ollivander's attention was fixed upon Harry. 'Well, now, Mr Potter. I can see that you are going to be something of a challenge.'
Professor McGonagall stepped forward. 'Before you begin, Master Ollivander, you should know that Harry made himself a wand to help bring his accidental magic under control.'
Ollivander, who had looked away from Harry while McGonagall was talking, now fixed his gaze back to the young-old boy. His silver gaze, shocking in its intensity, pinned him to the floor. Eventually the old man looked back to McGonagall.
'I can see no sign of a wand on him. His aura does make it difficult to see, however, so I could be mistaken.' Returning his attention to Harry, he asked, 'May I see this wand, Mr Potter?'
Harry slipped the wand out of the forearm holster he had improvised some time ago, and was now as much a part of his wardrobe as his underwear. Ollivander hesitated, then took it with one hand. Holding it up to the light, he stared at it for a long moment before fixing Harry with his gaze. 'How did you make this?' he asked, his voice softer than usual.
'A phoenix visited me and cried in my eyes after a visit to my aunt's house by Dumbledore,' said Harry neutrally. He ignored the gasp from McGonagall and continued, 'He left a feather behind when he left. I'd been having a lot of trouble with accidentally turning people colours and things; the Dursleys were abusing me. I had to do something. The feather felt kind of tingly, and I felt it drawing something from my hand, so I decided that if I could do magic, maybe I should have a magic wand. So I borrowed a knife and a long drill bit from my uncle's workshop and found a stick that felt right, carved the stick so it had the right shape and used the drill to bore a hole down the middle. I put the feather into the hole and filled the hole with scraps from the carving.' He looked at the wand in Ollivander's hand and took a breath before continuing.
'It took me a really long time to be able to use the wand, though. It didn't feel like the feather at all, really; just a stick of wood. But I kept trying and eventually I was able to get it to do things.' He shrugged, frowning in confusion – not at the only partly-true story he had told, but why it had taken so long for the wand to start obeying him. 'At least I stopped turning people's skin green.'
He looked up to see Ollivander exchanging what he could only class as a Significant Look with McGonagall. The Professor knelt down so that she could look him in the eye and put one hand on Harry's shoulder. 'Did you say that the Dursleys abused you? What did you mean by that?'
Harry shrugged disingenuously, although inside he was leaping with glee at the thought of rather belated revenge on his relatives. 'They'd lock me in the cupboard, not feed me, Uncle Vernon would hit me with the belt. But they stopped once you and that man Dumbledore visited.'
McGonagall's eyes went wide in shock, but she quickly schooled her expression back to neutrality. 'I see. Well, I'm glad that it stopped as a result of our visit, Harry. So things have been better, then?'
'Sure. They keep asking me to call them mum and dad, but it feels odd so I won't. Dudders and I get on okay, though we're not really friends. I'm not hungry any more. And once I managed to get that stupid wand to work, I was able to grow the cupboard and change things into furniture. I've got a really neat room, actually.'
'The cupboard...?'
'The cupboard under the stairs. Although it's kinda the biggest room in the house, now,' he said with a shy smile. He saw something pass across McGonagall's face but it was lost in a look of astonishment she shared with Ollivander. She stood up once more and smiled down at him.
'Well, Mr Potter, I knew when I greeted you at the train station that you were something extraordinary, but you surprise me greatly even so.' She looked to Ollivander. 'Mr Ollivander, can you tell Harry why he had difficulty with his wand? It wasn't just a case of hist magical core not yet being ready to connect with a wand, was it?'
Ollivander shook his head. 'No, not at all. It is two things. Firstly, young Mr Potter is not a wandmaker and does not know of the charms that are used to promote the conductivity of a wand. But more importantly, Mr Potter, were the tools made of steel, as most Muggle tools are?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Then that is the second reason. Cold iron prohibits magic. Although steel is not cold iron, it is sufficiently similar that it interferes with delicate magical devices such as this wand you made. You did not sand the wand, did you?'
'What's that?' asked Harry, feigning ignorance.
'I thought not. Well, Mr Potter, the steel tools effectively put an anti-magic coating on the wand wherever they cut it. While you could have used bronze or stone tools, such tools are not available in the Muggle world. So by using the knife to shape the wand, and the drill to hollow it out, there were two layers of a mild anti-magic coating between you and the feather. So not only were you trying to use a wand when normally you would be too young to do so, and not only did that wand lack the normal magical treatments which make it much, much more efficient than the simple combination of its materials, but you had to fight through the effect of the iron tools as well.'
Understanding came to Harry, and he had to fight to keep his expression to only what he believed was appropriate. 'Oh,' he said. 'Well, I guess I need a new wand, then?'
Ollivander nodded. 'Yes, you do. But there is a problem. You have been using this wand, flawed as it is, for several years now?'
'Yes, sir. Since I was seven.'
'Your magical channels have been set, then, to use the materials of this wand, and yet they have not, since it is not a true wand. I do have a wand made of holly wood with a feather from... yes, I believe it is the same bird that donated this one to you. But I wonder...' He looked thoughtful for a long moment, and Harry could almost feel the tension in the air as the old man thought. 'Yes, I think... just a moment.' With that he slipped behind the counter once more and stepped back amongst the ceiling-high shelves. His long fingers flicked over the jumbled ends of the boxes stacked haphazardly therein, and sunlight flooding in from high windows at the rear of the shop made the dust that rose from the boxes sparkle brightly. Then, with an 'Ah!' of triumph, Ollivander drew out one particular box and brought it reverently to the counter. He opened the box and lifted out the dark, polished wand that lay within. 'Take this and tell me what you feel,' he said.
Harry took the wand by its grip and waited for the rush of light and power through his being that he remembered so well from he previous visit to Ollivander's. But it did not happen that way; the flow felt choked, wrong. Frowning, he said, 'It feels warm, but rather odd. It's not very comfortable. Do you know what I mean?'
Ollivander nodded. 'As I thought. Well, Mr Potter, needs must! Please stand back a little, and do not interrupt me.'
A little nervous, Harry backed up until he bumped into Hermione. Something made him grab her hand as she looked over his shoulder, both children riveted as they watched Ollivander worked.
Stepping back from the bench, Ollivander drew his own wand and a moment later the door locked and blinds dropped with a noisy clatter. Then a shimmering shield appeared over the workbench and both Harry's wand and the new wand levitated into its centre. Moving very precisely, Ollivander made Harry's old wand split lengthways in half, releasing the feather within. Allowing the old wand to drop to the counter, he did something that made it rest against the new wand. Something encapsulated the old feather in a glowing, golden cylinder of light, as narrow as a pencil lead. For a long moment nothing appeared to change, and Harry wondered what was going happen next, but then the glowing cylinder sank into the surface of the new wand. Stunned, Harry glanced at Ollivander and was shocked to see that his silver eyes were positively glowing and that sweat stood trembling on his brow.
Then, suddenly, it was done. With a giant explosion of breath, Ollivander slumped down, catching himself on the counter with his hands and breathing deeply. The shield disappeared and wand fell into the box with an odd sort of subdued clatter. Harry and Hermione exchanged glances, knowing that they had seen something truly extraordinary.
Looking back at Ollivander, Harry was that he was now standing upright, looking as cool and unflappable as when he had entered the shop. He picked up the wand and offered it to Harry with a smile. 'Well, Mr Potter, why don't you try it this time?'
Nervously, Harry reached forward to take the wand. For a long moment, he could not make himself close his hand, but gathering his Gryffindor courage, he made himself grasp the wand firmly.
This time, he felt the light. This time, he felt the warmth and power that rushed through him like a river, making him feel rather like a fire hose – limp canvas that nevertheless contained a surging torrent under pressure.
Then the moment passed. For a long moment he stared at the wand, memorising its shape anew. But something made him look up and he saw Ollivander rubbing his eyes. Looking around, McGonagall was smiling at him broadly and Mrs Granger was staring in undiluted awe (although he felt that might be more from Ollivander's display than his own).
'It feels wonderful, sir,' he said. 'How much do I owe you?'
Ollivander glanced to McGonagall, who nodded slightly. 'Well, then,' he said. 'I fear I must charge you a little more than the usual fee, Mr Potter. That will be twenty galleons, and may I say that I think we can expect great things from you, Mr Potter, great things. However, listen well to me.
'You must never even hint to others that your wand has two phoenix feathers. It would be very bad for both you and I if it were to become known. They cannot be discovered through chance, since they are now merged and appear as one. So you must keep this secret for both our sakes.'
Harry frowned. 'Of course, sir, if you say so. But, why? What is so terrible?'
'It is against the law, Mr Potter. It is as simple as that,' said Professor McGonagall. 'You will no doubt learn why in your History of Magic class some time in the latter half of your school career at Hogwarts, but for now, simply accept that this must remain a secret from everyone. Do you swear to keep this secret, to keep it safe?'
Gulping, Harry recognised a formal oath. 'I swear.'
'Miss Granger?'
'I swear,' she said. Her hand, still grasped in Harry's left, squeezed his briefly in reassurance.
'Dr Granger, I regret the necessity, but do you also swear?'
'I swear,' said Helen Granger.
'I swear,' said Ollivander unprompted.
'And I also swear,' said McGonagall, finishing the oath, Harry knew. Suddenly she smiled and looked to the others. 'Well then, let us away. I feel I need a cup of tea; may I invite you to the Leaky Cauldron for a cup before we finish for the day, Helen?'
All but forgotten in the aftermath of the scene at Ollivander's, Harry and Hermione followed the two adults back to the Leaky Cauldron, their hands still joined.