CHAPTER THREE
DIAGON ALLEY
Bright and early next morning, sure enough as expected, immediately following breakfast, Harry and his mother set off to venture forth to the Leaky Cauldron in London to buy his school supplies. As they went on their way, Lily was busy reading the latest edition of the magical newspaper, the Daily Prophet.
"Ministry of Magic messing things up as usual," she groaned, turning the page.
"There's a Ministry of Magic?" Harry asked curiously.
Nodding, Lily said, "They wanted Dumbledore for Minister, but he said never leave Hogwarts, so old Cornelius Fudge got the job. Bungler if ever there was one. So he pelts Dumbledore with owls every morning, asking for advice."
"But what does a Ministry of Magic do, mom?"
"Well, their main job is to keep it from Muggles that there's still witches and wizards up and down the country."
"Why?"
"Well, look it this way, Harry," Lily explained, "everyone would be wanting magical solutions to their problems. And there are some who believe that we're best left off alone."
"And what do you believe in, mom?"
"I'm not really sure. One the one hand, I'm all for helping Muggles as my parents were. That said, let's get to business. You got your letter still?"
Harry nodded and took out the list of supplies, it was a long list, but all just the same, Harry was impressed to say the least, so he read exactly what it said:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL
of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
UNIFORM
First-year students will require:
1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)
Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags
COURSE BOOKS
All students should have a copy of each of the following:
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)
by Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic
by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory
by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration
by Emeric Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi
by Phyllida Spore
Magical Drafts and Potions
by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
by Newt Scamander
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection
by Quentin Trimble
OTHER EQUIPMENT
1 wand
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
1 set glass or crystal phials
1 telescope
1 set brass scales
Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS
ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS
When he was done reading, Harry looked at his mother with a look of him being impressed and wonder was on his face.
"Can we buy all of this in London, mom?"
Lily nodded beaming, "Of course, sweetheart. If you know where to go."
A few moments later, they arrived at the Leaky Cauldron. It was a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Dumbledore hadn't explained everything last night, Harry wouldn't have been able to find it on his own. The people hurrying by didn't glance at it, their eyes slid from the big book shop on one side to the record shop on the other as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all. In fact, Harry had the most peculiar feeling that only he and his mom could see it.
For a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut. The low buzz of chatter stopped when they walked in. Everyone seemed to know Lily; they waved and smiled at her, the bartender reached for a mug, "The usual, Mrs. Potter?"
"Maybe another time, Tom," said Lily, as she put a loving hand on her son's shoulder. "I'm on Hogwarts business."
"Good Lord," said the bartender, peering at Harry, "is this — can this be—?"
The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent.
"Bless my soul," whispered the old bartender, "Harry Potter… what an honor."
He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Harry and seized his hand, tears in his eyes.
"Welcome back, Mr. Potter, welcome back."
Harry didn't know what to say as everyone looked at him. But eventually, he mostly said 'thank you' or 'you're welcome' rather modestly, which in turn, got some laughs. The old woman with the pipe was puffing on it without realizing it had gone out.
Then there was a great scraping of chairs and the next moment, Harry found himself shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron.
"Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."
"So proud, Mr. Potter, I'm just so proud."
"Always wanted to shake your hand — I'm all of a flutter."
"Delighted, Mr. Potter, just can't tell you, Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle."
"I've seen you before!" said Harry, as Dedalus Diggle's top hat fell off in his excitement. "You bowed to me once in a shop."
"He remembers!" cried Dedalus Diggle, looking around at everyone. "Did you hear that? He remembers me!"
Harry shook hands again and again — Doris Crockford kept coming back for more.
A pale young man made his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes was twitching.
"L-L-Lily, Great S-Scott, it's b-b-been ages."
"Quirinus!" said Lily. "Harry, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."
"Y-y-young Mr. P-P-Potter," stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping Harry's hand, "c-can't t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you."
"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor?"
"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he'd rather not think about it. "N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter?" He laughed nervously. "You'll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself."
He looked terrified at the very thought. But the others wouldn't let Professor Quirrell keep Harry to himself. It took almost ten minutes to get away from them all.
At last, Lily managed to make herself heard over the babble. "Must get a move on, there's lots to buy. Come on, Harry."
Doris Crockford shook Harry's hand one last time, and Lily led herself and her son through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds.
Lily beamed at her son, "Like Hagrid told you, we're famous. Even Professor Quirrell was trembling to meet you —he's usually trembling."
"Is he always that nervous?" Harry asked.
Lily shook her head and sadly sighed, "Unfortunately… poor dear, but he's got a brilliant mind from what I've heard. He was fine while he was studying from books but then he took a year off to get some firsthand experience… Dumbledore said he met a group of vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit of trouble with a hag, so sadly, he's never been the same since then. Not only is he scared of the students, scared of his own subject."
Vampires? Hags? Harry's head was swimming. Lily, meanwhile, was counting bricks in the wall above the trash can with her wand.
"Three up, two across…" she muttered. "Right, stand back, sweetheart."
She tapped the wall three times with the point of her wand.
The brick she had touched quivered — it wriggled — in the middle, a small hole appeared — it grew wider and wider — a second later they were facing an archway, an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.
"Welcome Harry," said Lily, "to Diagon Alley."
They stepped through the archway. Harry looked quickly over his shoulder and saw the archway shrink instantly back into solid wall. The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. Cauldrons — All Sizes — Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver — Self-Stirring — Collapsible said a sign hanging over them.
Lily smiled, "I know you'll be needing one of those, but we got to get our money first."
Harry wished he had about eight more eyes. He turned his head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping.
A plump woman outside an Apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, saying, "Dragon liver, sixteen Sickles an ounce, they're mad."
A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium — Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy.
Several boys of about Harry's age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. "Look," Harry heard one of them say, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand — fastest ever —"
There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Harry had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon…
Gradually, Lily called Harry to her attention, he turned to face her.
"Now this Harry, is Gringotts, the best Wizarding bank in all of London." They had reached a snowy white building that towered over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, noticing a little man wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold.
"Mom, is that a…" Harry asked in a whisper.
Lily nodded, "Yes sweetheart, that is, in fact, a goblin. They're not the friendliest of beasts, so you don't want to get on their bad side." Mother and son walked up the white stone steps towards them. The goblin was about a head shorter than Harry. He had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Harry noticed, very long fingers and feet. He bowed as they walked inside. Now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:
Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed,
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.
"You would have to be mad to try and rob it," Lily went on, "but luckily robberies scarcely happen. No place safe, except for maybe perhaps Hogwarts."
I wouldn't dream of robbing a bank like this, though Harry himself, not in a million or many more years for as long as I live.
A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors, and they were in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. Lily and Harry made for the counter.
"Good morning," said Lily to a free goblin in her sweetest, but firm voice. "We've come to take some money out of the Potter family vault."
"You have the family key?"
Quick as a flash, Lily pulled a tiny golden key from her purse.
"Here you go," said Lily, handing the key to the goblin.
The goblin looked at it closely.
"That seems to be in order."
"And I've also got a letter here from Albus Dumbledore," Lily went on, speaking importantly, handing the goblin a letter. "It's about the last will and testament as written by my deceased husband James."
The goblin read the letter carefully.
"Very well," he said, handing it back to Lily, "I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!"
Griphook was yet another goblin, he held the door open for them. Harry, who had expected more marble, was surprised. They were in a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downward and there were little railway tracks on the floor. Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks toward them. They climbed in — and were off.
At first, they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages. Harry tried to remember, left, right, right, left, middle fork, right, left, but it was impossible. The rattling cart seemed to know its own way, because Griphook wasn't steering. Harry's eyes stung as the cold air rushed past them, but he kept them wide open.
Once, he thought he saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage and twisted around to see if it was a dragon, but too late — they plunged even deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor.
"I never know," Harry called to his mother over the noise of the cart, "what's the difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite?"
"Ask me again later, sweetheart, and I'll explain everything." Lily replied, trying not to lose her lunch and speaking loudly herself.
"Okay, mom," Harry answered.
When the cart stopped at last beside a small door in the passage wall, Griphook unlocked the door. A lot of green smoke came billowing out, and as it cleared, Harry gasped. Inside were mounds of gold coins, columns of silver, and finally, there were heaps of little bronze ones.
"And this is more than just our fortune, Harry. We will be getting much more," smiled Lily.
Like any dutiful mother, Lily helped Harry pile some of it into a bag and explained everything.
"The gold ones are Galleons," she explained. "Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, that should be easy enough to remember."
"Knuts," Harry pondered, "are those the bronze ones, mom?"
Lily nodded, "That they are, sweetheart. You catch on pretty quickly." She then turned to Griphook. "That's it for vault six hundred and eighty-seven, Griphook. Can we stop by vault seven hundred and seventy-seven now, please?"
"If you will follow me, please," said Griphook, ushering them to the cart.
They were going even deeper now and gathering speed. The air became colder and colder as they hurtled round tight corners. They went rattling over an underground ravine, and Harry leaned over the side to try to see what was down at the dark bottom, but he briefly groaned and pulled himself back. Vault seven hundred and seventy-seven awaited them. Unlike the Potter family vault it had no lock, which Harry found rather odd.
"Stand back," said Griphook importantly. He stroked the door gently with one of his long fingers and it simply melted away.
"If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped in there," said Griphook.
"How often do you check to see if anyone's inside?" Harry asked curiously.
"About once every ten years," said Griphook with a rather nasty grin.
Yikes, grimaced Harry, I'm sorry that I asked.
Sure enough, inside the very vault, was the item mother and son came for, James's last will and testament.
One wild cart later, when Lily and Harry reached the very way they started, Griphook begin reading James's notice, and here's exactly what it said:
"To my dearest Lily,
if both you and Harry are still alive
and reading this by the time I have
written this, I'll either be dead or
legally declared to be missing in action.
Just know that I love you both and wouldn't
trade it for anything in the world.
And now on to business:
I leave you both not only the Potter family mansion,
but I also leave you two with my family fortune,
please do with it as you please, be it Harry's education,
any charities thereof, or otherwise noted."
"Also,
if my old friend Remus John Lupin is among the living,
please see to it that he not only lives at Potter Manor,
but he also has access to a well-sized fortune that I have left him,
it will help him get by. Lily, if you could help
him find employment, that'd be great,
Harry,
if you could please treat and love him as though he were his uncle,
I'd appreciate that.
Also, Harry,
whatever life holds in store for you,
be it your studies or anything else,
know that I am pleased with you and
your mother, no matter what.
All my love,
now always and forever,
your loving husband and father…
James Potter."
Later, when they finished reading the will and taking a sack full of coins for Lupin, mother and son then stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts. Harry didn't know where to run first now that he had a bag full of money.
"We may as well get your uniform first, Harry." said Lily, she pointed toward a place called Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, she turned for a moment, "I'll be back in a moment, Harry. I'm going to get a pick-me-up; those cart rides were nauseating. I'll be sure to bring you something too."
"Thanks, mom," said Harry.
As he entered the store, Harry saw that Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch who was dressed all in mauve.
"Hogwarts, dear?" she said, when Harry started to speak. "Got the lot here — another young man being fitted up just now, in fact."
In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him, slipped a long robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length.
"Hello," said the boy, "Hogwarts, too?"
"Yes," said Harry.
"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to 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."
As he spoke, it was quite clear to Harry that this boy reminded him of a spoiled brat that he once read in a Muggle book about a famous candy maker and magician. The spoiled brat in question, who was a girl oddly enough, begged her parents to get her everything she wanted, and usually, they always wound up meeting her demands. In the end, the girl and her parents both got their comeuppance, just in time too, for they learned a lesson in humility and dignity, which is that there's more to life than greed and placing yourself before others. *
"Have you got your own broom?" the boy went on.
"No," said Harry.
"Play Quidditch at all?"
"No," Harry said again, wondering what on earth Quidditch could be.
"I do — Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my House, and I must say, I agree. Know what House you'll be in yet?"
"No," said Harry, feeling more uncomfortable by the minute and wondering what on earth Quidditch could be.
"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been — imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"
"Hmm," said Harry, wishing he could say something a bit more interesting.
"I say, look at that woman!" said the boy suddenly, nodding toward the front window. Lily was standing there, beaming at Harry and pointing at a few ice creams to show she couldn't come in.
"That's my mom," said Harry.
"Oh," said the boy, "I've heard of her. She's a Mudblood, is she not?"
Harry was not sure what to make of the boy less and less every second, on the one hand, he disliked him more and more, but on the other hand, he didn't want to start a rivalry with anyone yet before he got to school.
"Do watch your language," Harry said, frowning. "I'm sure your parents wouldn't want us to become bitter enemies, would they?"
"Whatever," said the boy, with a sneer. "Where is your father, then?"
"He's dead," said Harry shortly. He didn't feel much like going into the matter with this boy.
"Oh, sorry," said the other, not sounding sorry at all. "But he was our kind, wasn't he?"
"He was a wizard, if that's what you mean." Harry said.
"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old Wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?"
Harry didn't dare to give him an answer as Madam Malkin said, "That's you done, my dear," and Harry, not sorry for an excuse to stop talking to the boy, hopped down from the footstool.
"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," said the drawling boy.
As they left Madam Malkin's, Harry was rather talkative as he ate the ice cream his mom had bought him (chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts), he then explained everything to her.
"Take no notice, Harry," soothed Lily. "There are some magical families who believe they should be better than others, and if that's the case, at least attempt to call their bluff. Or at the very least, just ignore them."
Nodding, Harry said, "I'll do just that."
After eating their ice cream, they stopped to buy parchment and quills, Harry cheered up even more when he found a bottle of ink that changed color as you wrote. When they had left the shop, he said, "Hey mom, what's Quidditch?"
Lily beamed at Harry's question, as she started to remember some fond memories.
"Well, Harry, it's our sport. Wizard sport, that is. It's a lot like soccer in the Muggle world, played up in the air on broomsticks and there's four balls…" She went on explaining the whole rules of the game, and even told him that his father was one the best players, he was something called a Seeker, whose job was to get the last ball, the Golden Snitch. "For whichever team's Seeker caught the Snitch, their team would be awarded one hundred and fifty points and end the match, but they would only win, if their team had more points than the opposing team."
Curious to know more, Harry then asked, "And what are Slytherin and Hufflepuff?"
"They're two of Hogwarts Houses." Lily answered, "In fact, your dad, James played for Gryffindor, another house, which is what we were was in."
"I bet I'm in Hufflepuff," said Harry pondering all of this.
Lily ruffled her son's hair, "You don't know until you find out when you arrive at school, dear, they'll see to that."
They bought Harry's schoolbooks in a shop called Flourish and Blotts where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all.
She helped Harry to buy a pewter cauldron, in addition, they got a nice set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope. Then they visited the Apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. While Lily asked the man behind the counter for a supply of some basic potion ingredients for Harry, Harry himself examined silver unicorn horns at twenty-one Galleons each and minuscule, glittery-black beetle eyes (five Knuts a scoop).
Outside the Apothecary, they checked Harry's list again.
"We have only your wand and animal left, sweetheart." Lily said. "I'll get you an owl, most of the kids I knew had owls, they're extremely useful, they can carry your mail."
Harry had no objections, so he nodded his head.
"Sounds good to me."
Twenty minutes later, they left Eeylops Owl Emporium, which had been dark and full of rustling and flickering, jewel-bright eyes. Harry now carried a large cage that held a beautiful snowy owl, fast asleep with her head under her wing. Upon getting the beautiful owl, Harry decided to name her Hedwig, which was a name he had found in A History of Magic.
Lily added a check mark to the pet section of the supplies list and then gave it another looksee, "Just Ollivanders left — They are said to be the best place for wands."
A magic wand… This was what Harry had been really looking forward to more than anything.
The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window. A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside.
It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair. Harry felt strangely as though they had entered a very strict library; he swallowed a lot of new questions that had just occurred to him and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of his neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.
"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Harry jumped, an old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.
"Hello," said Harry awkwardly.
"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work." He turned to Lily, "Do you still use it, Lily?"
Lily nodded, "I do indeed, Garrick. And it's still going on fresh as the day I bought it. I polish it every single day."
Mr. Ollivander nodded with a beam, "Glad to hear it." He moved closer to Harry and finally blinked, 'cause deep down, those silvery eyes were a bit creepy. "Your father, James, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it — it's really the wand that chooses the wizard," he looked at Lily, "or witch, of course."
He then came so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes. "And that's where…" Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry's forehead with a long, white finger.
"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," 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…"
He shook his head and then, to Harry's relief, set to work on finding a wand just right for him.
"Hmmm," said Mr. Ollivander. "Well, now — Mr. Potter. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"
"I'm right-handed, sir." said Harry, recalling the various papers which he wrote with at Muggle school.
"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."
Harry suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.
"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."
Harry took the wand and (feeling a little foolish) waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.
"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try —" Harry tried — but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.
"No, no — here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."
Harry tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.
"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere — I wonder, now — yes, why not — unusual combination — holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."
Harry took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Lily clapped as Mr. Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well… how curious… how very curious…"
He put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious… curious…"
"Sorry," said Harry, "but what's curious?"
Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his stare. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather — just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother — why, its brother gave you that scar."
Harry swallowed.
"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard or witch, remember… I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter… After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things — terrible, yes, but great." Harry shivered. He paid seven gold Galleons for his wand, and Mr. Ollivander bowed them from his shop.
With their shopping completed, mother and son gathered his school supplies and headed back home, ready for another exciting day yet to come. Upon arriving home and making some sandwiches and a salad, there was both a lot of excitement and fear in Harry as they sat down to eat.
"What's wrong, Harry?" Lily asked, catching her son feeling down. "You're awfully quiet."
Harry wasn't sure he could explain — and yet — as he chewed his sandwich, trying to find the words, they soon poured out.
"Everyone thinks I'm special," he said at last. "All those people in the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Mr. Ollivander. 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 Voldemort murdered my dad."
Lily smiled, "Don't you worry, Harry. You'll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you'll be just fine."
"But what if I screw up?" Harry asked, still uncertain.
"You won't, dear." Lily did her best to explain. "Just be yourself. I know it's hard. You've been singled out, and that's always hard. You'll have a great time at Hogwarts — I did — your dad did — even you Uncle Remus can confirm this, so will majority of your professors."
That had cheered up Harry in no time as he smiled feeling better.
"Thanks, mom."
"Always," she replied.
Author's notes:
* So that was my third of the Sorcerer's Stone, and as always with every one of my stories, let me know what you all think so far by leaving your feedback in the comments area.
* The Harry Potter franchise, its characters, elements and everything else are owned and were created by J. K. Rowling.
* For those of you didn't catch the Easter egg about Harry comparing Malfoy, the 'spoiled Muggle Girl (and her parents)' , as well as my text mentioning the 'famous candy maker and magician' in question were all nods to the story of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory aka Willy Wonka, which was created by and the rights are owned by Mr. Roald Dahl, who, as almost anyone knows, may have been an inspiration for when Mrs. Rowling wrote the Harry Potter books. It is also one of my favorite stories, be it book or movie (but not the Depp remake).
- Heck, one of the reviews on the Sorcerer's Stone book was written by Publishers Weekly, starred review reads, "A delightful award-winning debut from an author who dances in the footsteps of P. L. Travers and Roald Dahl."
That said, until the next chapter my fellow Wizards, Witches and Muggles:
I'm M. R. Parkerson signing off…
