A/N: Hello everyone ! Examinations have delayed this chapter, but now it's here. It's quite close to canon's chapter five, and some lines come straight from book one. Of course, there's still important changes.
No warning needed here. It's an unusually quiet chapter, even though Harry is being Harry.
Please read, enjoy and review !
As aimeretvivre has guessed, Dumbledore isn't aware of the prophecy. He knows one might exist, but never heard the content. Yet Trelawney is at Hogwarts...
Mr. Guest has pointed out the word 'furnitures' hasn't been used properly in the previous version of this chapter. Indeed, it must be used to speak about chairs and tables, not about school things. My mistake: in French, we use the word 'fournitures' to speak about school purchase. I was confused, and I apologize. I've replaced it with the word 'supplies' which is more correct, I think.
Thank you Mr. Guest, and I hope you've enjoyed my story despite this mistake ;)
DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Harry Potter franchise. My Lady Rowling does. She made something wonderful, a whole world for us to play with.
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Stepping out, or rather rolling out of the Leaky Cauldron's fireplace, Harry realized he hated Floo-travel with a passion. Of course, the good-natured laughters of the customers did nothing to soften his bad mood, nor did the obvious absence of windows. Harry felt humiliated, he felt trapped, and thus he wasn't too happy with how his day had begun.
Six pairs of eyes, however, were looking at him with curiosity rather than mirth. They belonged to three adults and three children, clad in muggle clothes, strangely out of place among the wizards and witches who were drinking in the pub. The muggleborns and their parents, understood Harry.
The children were about his height. There was a girl with prominent teeth and brown, bushy hairs, whose eyes seemed to be perpetually filled with questions. Two of the adults looked too much like her to be anything but her parents. At their side stood two boys. One was blond, and his clothes were new and clean, whereas the other had light-brown hairs, and looked quite bored. The last adult, a small, well-dressed lady, was probably the blond boy's mother.
Without losing a second, Harry recovered, and made sure his unruly hairs were hiding his scar before heading toward them. Behind him, the deputy headmistress was stepping out of the hearth in a rather more elegant way than his own style had been.
"Good Morning, Mr. and Mrs. Granger, Mrs. Finch-Fletchley" greeted professor McGonagall. But then she frowned and turned toward the brown-haired boy, who didn't seem fazed by their sudden appearance in the slightest. "Where are your parents, Mr. Entwhistle ?"
" No time and many things to do" he shrugged. "I can take care of my own business, they said."
Disapproval was obvious on the teacher's face, but she remained silent, and addressed the three adults instead.
" Please follow me. Diagon Alley's entry is right there."
But she was pointing a wall without doors nor windows, and the only man among the adults – Mr. Granger – asked the obvious question.
"Where is it ? I don't see anything."
By then Harry had seen enough of the wizarding world to roll his eyes. Was the concept of an invisible door so alien to him ? If so, Hogwarts was the last place he needed to visit. But professor McGonagall merely smiled, went for the wall and tapped it a few times with her wand. Three up, two across, then the brick rearranged themselves to create a large archway. Harry inwardly memorized the combination, in case he'd want to open the door himself.
"Welcome to Diagon Alley" said the deputy headmistress, leaving the muggleborns and their parents dumbstruck.
'It's a whole damned shopping street !' swore Harry, slightly panicked. It wasn't as crowded as it could have been, but there was still way too much people for the young boy's peace of mind, and he knew every single person he would meet would have a wand at their disposal. A weapon he didn't have, and craved to obtain, since it apparently made magic so much easier.
" That's... impressive" commented Mrs. Granger.
"It's brilliant, you mean !" exclaimed the blond boy.
There were all sorts of shops: some were selling cauldrons, some were selling broomsticks, some others were selling owls, books or telescopes. Quite evidently, it wouldn't be difficult to buy all the peculiar school supplies that Hogwarts required
"How does it work ?" asked the bushy haired girl. "You didn't cast any spell, so it must have been an inner mechanism of sort, wasn't it ?"
"Who cares ?" yawned the bored child before McGonagall could answer. "It's open, deal with it."
It earned him a dark glare from the girl. She didn't look pleased at all by his rude interruption, but her father intervened before she could retort.
" I'm sure your school will teach you how to replicate it, Hermione. Now, why don't we get started ? There's a lot of supplies to be bought."
But the deputy headmistress shook his head.
"I fear we'll have to visit Gringotts first, Mr. Granger. Your currencies aren't worth anything in the wizarding world."
"What do you use instead ?" asked Mrs. Finch-Fletchley.
"We have three kind of coins" explained McGonagall. "The Knuts, the Sickles and the Galleons. A Knut is worth one penny, more or less, and there are twenty-nine Knuts in a Sickle. Finally, a Galleon is worth about five pounds, or seventeen Sickles."
"It doesn't sound too hard to remember" smiled Mr. Granger. "I guess this 'Gringotts' place is some kind of bank ?"
"Indeed it is" confirmed the deputy headmistress.
Gringotts, as it turned out, was a tall, white building with bronze doors guarded by a pair of little creatures, a head smaller than Harry. They had toothy mouths, pointed beards, long fingers and feet, but also very mean eyes in Harry's opinion. With halberds twice as tall as they were, the guards were nothing to be trifled with.
Harry took an instant dislike in them, as they seemed both hostile and contemptuous. They were nothing like the house-elves, he realized. They would attack him at the first excuse they would get, and without any hesitation. Twitty was kind and helpful, these creatures were nasty and dangerous.
"Do not stare" warned McGonagall. "The goblins don't like to be looked down upon."
Behind the bronze doors was a pair of silver one, on which a message was engraved.
"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."
Startled, Harry realized that the bushy-haired girl, Granger, had sung it aloud.
"It isn't very good" she declared "but the message is clear".
'Indeed it is', agreed Harry internally. It was obvious, however, that the goblins at the entry had not appreciated her criticism – spitting on the floor was a clear message too.
Beyond the silver doors was a large marble hall, where a hundred goblins were busy walking, bickering, examining golden coins and precious stones. Horrified, Harry realized there was but one gate, once again , and he began to breath a little louder.
"Are you unwell ?" asked Mrs. Granger, concerned.
"No, I'll be fine" lied Harry. As if he could be fine, when the goblins were eyeing them like an eagle stares at his prey. He was tense like a bowstring, yet no one else seemed to realise the danger. They were exchanging bundles of rose and violet tickets for piles of golden wide coins as if it the goblins gazes weren't filled with hunger.
As it turned out, nothing happened. It was almost a miracle in Harry's eyes, but not one he would disdain. He looked at McGonagall expectantly – 'could we please be out of this trap as soon as possible ?' he wanted to ask. Alas, his wish wasn't to be granted.
"We would like to take some money from Mr. Harry Potter's vault" she asked a goblin. "And from Hogwarts' scholarship founds too."
The goblin, who was standing behind a desk twice as high as he was, narrowed his eyes on the deputy headmistress, and shot a quick, suspicious glance to Harry.
"Do you have the keys ?"
"I do. There."
And the transfiguration teacher exhibited two keys, one of gold and one of silver. The goblin's long fingers seized them, and turned them thrice.
"Hmph. That seems to be in order" he grumbled. "Griphook !"
Another goblin appeared, looking a little younger than his peers, but by no stretch of mind nicer. With a scowl oscillating between disgust and annoyance, he led the way, and McGonagall followed. Griphook opened a door, revealing a narrow, stony passage.
"Hurry up, Mr. Potter, Mr. Entwhistle" urged the deputy headmistress.
The bored-looking boy merely shrugged and entered the corridor, but Harry was more reticent. However, the Grangers and the Finch-Fletchley were leaving the banks already, and Hary was genuinely curious to see his own vault – a possession he had discovered was his only a few days earlier. Snape had suggested his family was quite wealthy, but the mere idea sounded alien to Harry.
Not very eager to stand alone in a hall among a hundred of goblins, Harry followed his muggleborn fellow soon-to-be student, never taking his eyes from Griphook while crossing the door the goblin held.
"Cagey little one, eh ?" grinned Griphook, not fazed in the slightest.
But Harry ignored him and walked faster, not trusting the goblin with his back. Soon, they reached what appeared to be rail tracks. Griphook whistled, and...
"Seriously ?" exclaimed the muggleborn boy, incredulous. "We're going to use mine carts ?"
" They are quite efficient" replied the goblin haughtily. "Our people has used them for centuries."
But Harry's ears were able to catch McGonagall smothered answer: "Quite efficient indeed" she murmured. "They never fail to humiliate their visitors."
There was some truth in that statement, as the two boy discovered when the cart took off. Its speed was astonishing, its trajectories absurd and its safety seriously lacking. Griphook wasn't even steering it ! But it did led them in front of a vault door, where they descended.
"It was brilliant !" enthused the other boy, nonplussing both McGonagall and the goblin. "What's better than an underground roller-coaster !"
"It was awful" muttered Harry. "I'd rather stay on the ground, thank you very much".
Griphook reached to his pocket, took the golden key and opened the door. "First" he announced "the Potter's vault."
It was... overwhelming. Coins, mainly of gold and silver, were set in the likeness of a landscape. And more like the Alps than Netherlands: mounts and mounts of galleons, valleys of sickles and streams of knuts.
"Blimey !" whistle the muggleborn. Then he turned to Harry. "Seriously, guy, you're loaded. If one of these golden coins is worth five pounds, that makes..."
"Approximatively forty thousand pounds" supplied Griphook. "This vault is supposed to pay Mr. Potter's fees and supplies until he turns seventeen, or so Gringotts was told."
"It looks like Mr. Potter will have enough pocket money for seven years" smirked McGonagall, the way she did any time she was thinking about James or Lily.
Only Harry remained silent, his mind turning at full speed. He had lived homeless for as long as he could remember, and now this. There was enough money in his vault to buy a small flat. It felt... weird. Almost wrong.
"How much do I need ?" he inquired.
McGonagall answered, and Harry began to fill a small purse accordingly. His hand were reaching for the gold with great caution, as if fearing a trap. Such wealth looked too great to be true, too convenient to be his.
"It won't bite you" grunted Griphook. "Hurry, we haven't all day."
Reluctantly, Harry took his money and went out of the vault. Taking a last look at his gold, he watched as Griphook closed the door, and asked:
"Is it safe ?"
But the goblin laughed, revealing once more his yellow sharp, shark-like teeth.
"Your gold is in Gringotts, young wizard. Nowhere else will it be safer, for no man ever broke into Gringotts and escaped to boast about the gold they -"
He was cut short by a powerful roar. Startled, the witch, the young boys and the goblin looked at the tunnels with a worried expression.
"What was that ?" asked the brown-haired boy, who had paled a few shades.
"It sounded like a dragon" frowned McGonagall.
"It was" gritted the goblin. "He is guarding some of our most important vaults."
"Someone broke in, isn't it ?" sighed Harry in a resigned, rhetorical way.
"I hope not" snapped Griphook. "For his own sake. Even when the would-be robbers escape the dragon's wrath, goblin steel is not so kind."
The bank employee was in a fool mood for the rest of the visit, scowling a lot and giving short, cutting answers to whatever question was asked. They reached the Hogwarts' vault and didn't stay for long. Then, one cart's ride later, they were standing in front of the building, with a door slamming behind them.
"The goblins aren't so rude, usually" apologized the deputy headmistress. "I guess there really was a robbery going on."
It didn't seem to worry her much, though, so the boys relaxed a little. Harry was especially happy to see the sun again – indeed, he was practically beaming himself.
"So" asked the muggleborn, "where do we go, now ?"
Next stop was Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Harry and the brown-haired boy – who presented himself as Kevin Entwhistle once he realized his fellow wizard-wannabe didn't know his name – needed three sets of robes, a winter cloak and a pointed hat, which Kevin deemed as ridiculous.
"I mean, it must be a custom, but why pointed hats ?" he complained. "It's neither neat nor practical."
"The edges are useful" advocated Harry. "Especially when it rains, or when the sun is too strong."
"Cowboy's hats have edges too, it doesn't make them mandatory ! Seriously, man, do you imagine ? Wearing something like that in the streets ?"
" I don't really care."
"Well, I imagine not, considering what you're wearing now. I'm not dressed like a lord either, but you... Did your parents find your rags in a trash can ?"
Kevin had a point, admitted Harry. He was wearing the same clothes as the day he had been running through the streets of King's Lynn, and they were torn and pierced on many places, so that the skin of his thighs and forearms could be seen. Of course, he could have borrowed a robe from Hogwarts, but since McGonagall had said they would accompany muggleborn students, Harry thought he should to blend with them.
"It has been some years they haven't found anything for me" he shrugged.
"Why ? Have they abandoned you or something ? My own parents suck, but even they wouldn't..."
"They're dead" dead-paned Harry. "I didn't even know their name until few days ago".
"Oh... Sorry, guy. Shouldn't have brought it up, uh ?"
"That's fine. I can't mourn people I don't remember, can I ?"
But the realization still shut the muggleborn in an awkward silence for five minutes. McGonagall had left them, and went to find out how the Grangers and the Finch-Fletchleys fared. Then Madam Malkin came, and took Kevin with her to measure him – the wizards seemed to prefer tailored clothes, as opposed to muggle's ready-to-be-worn.
Thus Harry was on his own. It felt good, but it didn't last, as a freckled boy entered the shop. He seemed a little gawky, a little ill at ease in a set of old black robes too large for him. The red-headed smiled tentatively at Harry, and sat in the chair Kevin had just left.
"Hi" he greeted. "Hogwarts, too ?"
"Yes."
" I've heard we'll be forty first years – ten per house. I hope there'll be good blokes in mine, but as long as I'm not in Slytherin, it should be fine."
"Why ?" asked Harry, frowning. "What's the matter with Slytherin ?"
"Well, that's where all the bad guys will be. You-Know-Who and almost all the deaters came from Slytherin, that ought to be a bad sign."
"I don't know who" replied Harry. "And I don't know what a deater is either. Be clearer."
"Seriously ?" blinked the red-headed. "Deater is auror slang for death eater – I picked it up because of my big brother – but you really don't know who... He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is ?"
"I didn't" said Harry dryly. "I grew up among the muggles. But unless I'm dumb, he must be Voldemort, isn't he ? Why can't you say his name, then ?"
"Because he hears" flinched the boy. "Or at least he did, when he was alive. And as the deaters never says his name – only 'the Dark Lord' – he knows you're an enemy, and he knows where you are. So, you must never say his name."
"But he's dead, isn't he ?"
Harry certainly hoped so. The man had tried to kill him once,
"Well, yes, but his servant aren't ! You don't want to upset Black or Dolohov, do you ?"
'I probably did it already' thought Harry, but he kept it for himself. Surprisingly enough, Harry had heard about Black and Dolohov. They were two of the three most wanted men in Britain, along with Evan Rosier, and thus McGonagall had mentioned their names once or twice.
"Not really" he answered truthfully. "I heard they were powerful and nasty."
"Nasty doesn't even begin to describe it" shivered the red-headed. "Dolohov killed so many people nobody know the exact count, and Black... Black is so hated nobody want to talk about him. Every time I asked, my mother spat on the floor and grumbled something like 'traitorous bastard'."
"And those two were in Slytherin ?"
"Uh... I don't know" admitted the boy, taken aback. "Dolohov doesn't sound British, though, so he probably never studied in Hogwarts. And Black... he's something like a taboo, you know ?"
That wasn't very convincing. Most death eaters were supposed to come from Slytherin, yet the most famous didn't. Apparently, the freckled boy had sensed Harry's scepticism, as he quickly tried to support his point.
"But all the others came from there !" he exclaimed. "Malfoy, Rosier, Macnair, the Lestranges, Crabbe, Parkinson, Goyle... All of them were purebloods, and pure snakes too !"
"Purebloods ?" inquired Harry, confused.
"What, you don't know what it is, either ? The pureblood families are the families without a muggle in their ancestries for like a very, very long time. It's kind of an obsession for them, they'd rather marry their own sisters than a muggleborn."
"You're no pureblood, are you ?"
The boy had sounded so disgusted while talking about the pureblood that it seemed painfully obvious he hated them. But the red-headed surprised Harry by wincing and looking away.
"Technically, I am" he admitted. "But it's more of a coincidence than anything else, really. My family doesn't care about blood purity at all, we're even dubbed 'muggle lovers' and 'blood traitors' by the other purebloods, so we don't like them much. We've lost a lot of relatives in the war too – my father, for example."
"I'm sorry" said Harry, before adding: "My parents too died during the war."
He thought it would help create a bond, but an uncomfortable silence began to set between the two boys instead. Realizing his error, Harry tried to reignite the discussion.
"So, which house for you, if not Slytherin ?" he asked, faking joviality.
"Well, all my brothers went to Gryffindor, and from what they said, it's the best one too ! The house of the braves and the nobles, 'hear me roar', all that stuff... I'd really like to go there. Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad either, but I don't think it's for me. Too nerdy, you see ?"
"And Hufflepuff ? Hard work and loyalty ?"
"There's two thing I don't like about Hufflepuff, mate. 'Hard' is one, 'work' is the other."
"Doesn't sound too bad to me" smiled Harry. "Friends and comrades I can rely on, no matter what. I wouldn't mind working harder if I can get that."
"Suit yourself" shrugged the red-headed. "But Hufflepuff is known to be the house of the losers and the nobodies. That's not really appealing."
Harry disagreed whole-heartedly. In fact, since McGonagall had explained the house system to him, Hufflepuff had become his first choice. He didn't care about glory, knowledge or ambition. What he really wanted was somebody to trust and somewhere to belong. Hufflepuff promised both. As long as the house of the badger gave him what he craved for, Harry was more than ready to be a nobody – it wouldn't be much of a change, anyway.
Then Kevin came back with his sets of robes, and Madam Malkin quickly followed. Harry stood up, and the red-headed wave and said:
"See you at Hogwarts, mate. My name's Ron Weasley, by the way."
"I'm Harry" replied the raven-haired boy. "Harry Potter."
And he entered the next room, unaware of the widely gaping Weasley he had left behind him. Madam Malkin send a strange look in Harry's direction, then seized a measuring ribbon and began to unroll it on his back, legs and forearms. Harry tried not to recoil, but had a hard time doing so: he definitely hated being touched by a stranger, especially in the back.
"So the Prophet was right" said the tailor. "You're back among the livings."
"I didn't know I was dead" retorted Harry.
"You could have been, and no one would have been the wiser. Ten years without hearing a word about our hero ! What were we supposed to believe ?"
"Maybe I was simply waiting to be found."
"That was what some people thought" admitted Madam Malkin. "But they sought you, and never found anyone. The others assumed you were dead, killed by his curse at last, or murdered by some death eaters, and the ministry was hiding it to avoid an uproar."
"Well, they were wrong. I'm still alive, as surprising as it may be."
"So it seems."
She sounded sceptical enough to make Harry's bells of alarm ring. Did she think he was a fake ? It seemed ludicrous to Harry, but he knew people were ready to believe the worst whenever they were given the chance. Ultimately, he decided not to worry too much about it. Everybody he had met had commented about how much he looked like his parents. Surely this kind of rumours wouldn't last.
A few minutes later, he left the shop with the sets of robes he needed. McGonagall wasn't there, but Harry decided to continue his purchases on his own. He had, after all, all the gold and sense he needed.
He easily found a telescope at a nearby shop, then bought a pewter cauldron two doors further. The shop also sold a variety of accessories to ease the brewing of potions. Dragon hide gloves were on Harry's list, but many available supplies weren't: flasks of all shapes an sizes, silver knives... and a couple pairs of glasses.
"Excuse me" he asked the shop owner. "Why do you sell glasses ?"
The man turned his head and beamed at the green-eyed boy. He seemed to be in his mid-thirties, had brown hairs and honest eyes. Although he ran a shop whose customers were potion brewers, he wasn't anything like Snape – he was less pale and twenty degrees warmer than Hogwarts' potions master.
"Well, a good eyesight comes in handy when you must brew potions" smiled the man. "But in fact, those glasses have a lot of useful enchantments. For example, they protect your eyes from any magical effects, which is often life-saving when a potion turns wrong. They also protect it from heat and acids, obviously."
"Any magical effects ? Or only those caused by potions ?"
"We haven't tried it against a basilisk's glare" joked the shop owner. "A conjunctivitis curse wouldn't affect you, though, so I think your eyes are pretty much invulnerable as long as you wear these little wonders."
"That's brilliant !" exclaimed Harry. "Why aren't they on Hogwarts' list ?"
"They are" chuckled the man. "Only, not on yours. They are mandatory for the seventh years students who study potions at NEWT-level."
"I will take them now" decided Harry. "Better safe than sorry. And I'll also buy a silver knife."
"That's the spirit ! Why the knife, though ?"
"It might come in handy, in case I meet a werewolf on a full moon."
"Good one, kid" laughed the shop owner.
Only, Harry wasn't joking. Snape's commentary on the werewolves being very resistant to spells had made him weary of the beasts. A few days after their first encounters in the dungeons, Harry had returned to the potions master's office in order to 'pester' him until he spilled everything he knew. All in all, the werewolves were ordinary people twenty-nine days a month, but mindless killers on a full moon. One of them had chased him once, and now Harry had time and resources to prepare himself, he was willing to invest a few sickles to do more than fleeing during their next meeting.
He left and passed in front of a broomstick shop which seemed a lot busier than the other ones on Diagon Alley. Apparently, a new broom was released, the 'Nimbus 2000'. Harry didn't give it much thought. A broom sure sounded useful, but he didn't know how to fly, he wasn't allowed one on Hogwarts' grounds, and it looked like it was very expensive. Three good reasons not to buy one yet.
The magical menagerie made him pause a little longer, but he didn't enter it either. Hogwarts and Harry clearly didn't looked for the same kind of pets. What would he do with a toad ? An owl he could understand, even though he had no one to send a letter to. But a toad ? Even a cat would have been preferable, and Harry had a visceral dislike for cats. Especially Mrs. Norris.
Next stop was the one Harry had been really eager to make. Since he was seven, he had used a power only he and his enemies could wield. However, there always was the difference of the strange sticks the black-cloaked men were waving – their wands. It had only been a detail for him, until further discussion with McGonagall.
Apparently, he had tried to throw stones at a bunch of gun slinger. A wand improved the mastery of one's magic by leaps and bounds, so much that most wizards couldn't even use wandless magic. Indeed, only through a wand were they able to cast spells.
Harry himself struggled to control anything with his wandless skills. More often than not, he managed to achieve what he wanted done, but it came with a price, and this price was called exhaustion. Using his magic tended to deplete him of his strength, and very quickly at that. In fact, he had more stamina now than two years before, and so he had hoped he could compete in raw strength with his pursuer some day, but the help of a wand would still be very welcome.
Ollivanders was a narrow, shabby and sixteen centuries old shop if the golden letters above the door said the truth. Inside, a thousand narrow boxes were piled from the ground to the ceiling. They looked old and dusty. 'In those boxes' thought Harry 'I'd find a wand, a weapon to fight the death eaters and possibly win'.
He looked around uneasily. Apparently, the shop owner wasn't here, but the front door wasn't locked either, and Harry felt like he was watched – though the feeling could have been induced by the strange atmosphere within the shop. It was ancient and highly magic. Only Hogwarts had this kind of aura, but the castle wasn't so tiny.
Harry stepped forward carefully. At a moment's notice, he was ready to turn heels and run out of the shop. By the way, was there some kind of laws in the wizarding world stating no room can have more than one door ?
"Good afternoon" said a soft voice, and all hell broke loose.
Jumping in surprise, Harry realized in the blink of an eye he had been cut from the shop's exit. Startled an panicked, he reached his magic, and converted his fear into power. In an instant, all the boxes in the shop fell on the man standing behind him.
Harry backed away, panting, and watched wearily the huge heap of boxes in front of him. From beneath the pile, a old man slowly emerged, struggling with the boxes which kept falling on his head. He had pale silvery eyes, and they were shining with amusement.
"My, my !" he laughed. "I've never been that glad I've cast a feather-light charms on those boxes. It may have been tiring, but it was well worth it."
"Who are you ?" asked Harry. The man didn't look too suspicious, but Harry had to wonder why he wasn't upset.
"Garrick Ollivander, proud owner of this shop since my father retired" the man answered. "And you must be Harry Potter. You have your mother's eyes – and, I must add, her fiery temperament too."
"I wouldn't know" retorted Harry. "I don't even remember her face, let alone her character."
"Ah, yes" said Ollivander with a saddened voice. "I loath the day I sold the wand who killed her. Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew, with a phoenix feather as the core. A powerful, very powerful wand, but he fell in the wrong hands, and the wrong brain was behind them..."
The old man shook his head, seized his own wand, and cast a spell on the heap of boxes. They began to rearrange themselves as if nothing had happened at all, and Ollivander looked once more at Harry.
"I hoped I'd be seeing you soon, Mr. Potter. The Prophet has said a lot of things about you, and I wouldn't trust half of them."
"What did it say ?" asked Harry worriedly.
He knew the Prophet was a newspaper, and after Madam Malkin's and Ollivander's comments, he was beginning to fear whatever had been written about him.
"Everything and its opposite" the old man waved off. "Now, let's move to a more interesting subject. Your wand."
With a sweeping glance, Ollivander embraced every boxes in his shop, and stopped on a dark red box. He took it, opened it, and presented a wand to Harry.
"Try this one, Mr. Potter. Very similar to your mother's, since your little outburst was so much like her. Ten and half inches long, willow wood and a phoenix feather core. Rather flexible. A fine wand, I dare say."
Harry shrugged and waved it a bit, but nothing happened.
"No, she won't do. Too bad, but I would have been surprised – finding the right wand on the first try is exceedingly rare. Perhaps this one, then ? More like your father's, mahogany and dragon heart string, eight inches, pliable. A short yet powerful one."
Once again, Harry tried it to no avail. Ollivander took it back and tuck it in its box, then sought a new one.
"I should have known, no child is exactly like one of his parents – nor is he their sum. Here, Mr. Potter. He's very different, made with ebony and unicorn hair, twelve inches and a quarter, unyielding. An elegant combination."
As the wand failed to produce any effect, Ollivander snapped it out of Harry's hands.
"No, no, definitely not. Maybe her, then ? She's an exotic one, cherry and kappa scales, thirteen inches long, rather springy. I've made her after a trip to Japan."
But it didn't react to Harry magic. Then Ollivander brought him a new one, Harry tried to produce something, anything, but failed. He tried every wand the old man wanted him to try, but none seemed to suit him. Harry wondered if there was something wrong with him, but Ollivander didn't look worried. On the contrary, the old man was smiling, his eyes full of fire. Apparently, the wandmaker was enjoying the challenge rather than being annoyed by a difficult customer.
As perhaps twenty boxes had been opened and their contents tried, Ollivander's fingers stopped in front of a black, very dusty box. The old man frowned and paused, suddenly thoughtful. Very slowly, delicately, he took the wand inside, and looked at it with attention.
"I didn't want to try this one" he breathed. "Yet she seems excited, today. As if she had woken up from a long slumber... Has she chosen already ?"
Then he turned his serious gaze to Harry (who was a little disturbed – the man seemed to think his wands were alive, and it crept the boy to no end) and declared:
"Try her, Mr. Potter. I feel like she wants you to do it."
Without too much hope, Harry took the wand. It felt warm, but he didn't know if it was a good sign or not. He closed his eyes, summoned his magic, and waved the wand intently, wishing for something to happen, at last.
Garrick Ollivander wasn't a man easy to surprise. After living through two wars and decades of wand making and wand selling, he thought he had seen everything. This day hadn't even been the first he had been attacked by an eleven years old customer. But when a bright, silver mist burst from the young boy's wand, the old wand maker was left completely astonished.
A Patronus. Granted, a weak and incomplete one, but the boy had still done it. His first spell, and it was a patronus charm. Simply unprecedented in the shop's long history. Ollivander hadn't even known it was possible before this very day.
"How did you..." he began, before cutting himself short. "Mr. Potter ? Are you all right ?"
The green-eyed boy was crying. However, he was not sobbing. The tears were rolling freely on his cheeks, but his expression was serene, beatific even, and he gazed at Ollivander with a pleading look.
"Please" he said. "Tell me she's the one."
"My boy" answered the wandmaker with a soft voice "I'm neither blind nor cruel enough to pretend she's not a perfect match for you. But first, tell me, what did you feel when you waved her ?"
"I can't even begin to describe it with words. It was... It was simply wonderful. She sang for me, I think, and I'd never heard anything so beautiful. Her song resonated with my magic, and suddenly everything looked clear. It was as if my power had suddenly found the place where it was meant to be. I didn't wave her as much as she danced, and I was so happy I had to cry."
In truth, he was still euphoric, filled with joy and power like never before. Oh, he understood at last why wandless magic was so rare. Who would deprive themselves from such a feeling ? His magic had been a poor man wandering on a barren land, now it was a prince sleeping in golden silk. Let the death eaters come ! Now he was ready. Now he was invincible. Together with his wand, he could have defeated an army, or so he thought.
"I see" murmured Ollivander. "Holly. Eleven inches. Nice and supple. Her core is a phoenix feather. But it's curious. Oh, so very curious indeed..."
"How so ?"
Harry had asked to be polite, but he didn't really care. His new partner was marvellous, and he was admiring her fervently, without bothering to cast a glance at Ollivander.
"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. And the one in your hand happens to have a brother. Only one, and no more. His core was made of a tail feather from the very same phoenix which provided one to your own wand. He was thirteen-and-a-half inches long, and made of yew. By what twist of fate have you been destined to the wand whose own brother..."
"I don't care" cut Harry sharply.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Potter ?"
"My wands is sister to Voldemort's, isn't she ? I see why you might find it strange, but I really don't care. I'm alive, he's not. Beside, from what I've heard about him, I very much doubt he ever felt for his wand anything as strong as I feel for mine. Don't even try to make me give up on her. Nothing will taint her in my eyes."
"I wasn't trying" Ollivander assured. "Indeed, it would be a crime. I just thought you had to be aware of this peculiar... relationship. After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things with his wand. Terrible, yes, but great nonetheless."
"She will do great things too" whispered Harry. "Nothing is impossible to us, now."
And then, out loud, he asked:
"How much do you want ?"
"Seven galleons, Mr. Potter. It's the price for any Ollivander wand."
Whether it had been seven, seventy or seven hundred galleons, Harry would have paid it all the same. And if money had been lacking, he would have stolen it on the spot. Right now, he was in a mindset to leave Ollivander's shop with this wand or not at all. Soon enough, seven golden coins changed hands, and Harry was back on Diagon Alley with a new found merry heart.
Now he needed to buy his books. It was the most boring part of the day, but the book shop was easy enough to find: Flourish and Blotts was the biggest building on Diagon Alley, Gringotts excepted.
Inside, shelves were everywhere, filled with thousands of books. Little books and giant books, paper-thin books and larger-than-brick books, invisible books, living books, talking books, walking books, smoking books, the diversity was simply incredible.
To Harry's great relief, Flourish and Blotts was selling a special bundle for Hogwarts first year students. Everything he needed was in, from the Standard book of spell to Magical Creatures and where to find them. This last book was apparently so popular that his author, Newt Scamander, had written a simplified version for little children. Soon after, Scamander had become something like a pop star, and his adventures had been novelised and later turned into a theatre play.
Once every book was in his bag, Harry prepared to go and search for McGonagall. Idly, he wondered whether the deputy headmistress was searching for him.
"Oh, here you are" said a young girl's voice. "Professor McGonagall was looking for you."
'Well, this answers that' thought Harry. The bushy-haired girl – what was her name ? Ah, yes, Hermione Granger – was harbouring an ever-confident expression while approaching him. In her arms, she was holding no less than eight books, and none of them were on Hogwarts' list.
"Great" he replied. "In fact, I was looking for her too. Do you know where she is ?"
"I don't. She left a couple minutes ago. I swear, it was a rude thing you did, leaving without a word for her. What if she thinks you've been abducted and she calls the police for nothing ?"
" The police would come and see I'm fine, then they'd leave. McGonagall would scold me, and that would be the end of the story. By the way, the wizarding policemen are called the Aurors."
" Really ? Thanks, I didn't know... But what you did was still wrong !"
" I don't think it's such a big deal" shrugged Harry. "I'm used to take care of myself, but if McGonagall doesn't like it, she's welcome to give me any punishment."
'Welcome to try, anyway' he corrected internally. ' I won't accept any unfair treatment.'
" Professor McGonagall is a wise and nice adult" furrowed the Granger girl. "You should treat her with more respect."
"She's better than most" admitted Harry. "You're right, I'll apologize as soon as I find her. Happy ?"
"Quite" she answered dryly. But apparently, she wasn't done with him, as she appeared to be readying herself for a full lecture.
"What are those books you're carrying ?" asked Harry, cutting the grass under her feet. "I didn't see them on the list."
"They're detailed books about customs in the wizarding world. There's so much to learn ! Did you know that..."
And she began to drown Harry in an ocean of stories and anecdotes. It was nothing short of amazing how much information the girl had been able to assimilate in the span of a few hours. Harry was forced to admire her memory, but also her ability to speak without a pause. The fast pace and stamina her tongue was showing were simply astonishing.
Its edge was sharp, too. Any time something seemed ludicrous to her, or out of the scope of muggle's morals, a cutting comment followed to express her opinion on the subject. Flying on broomsticks ? Impractical and uncomfortable. Playing quidditch ? Such a violent and barbaric sport ! Forbidding the goblins from using wands ? Did equal rights mean anything to wizards ? But more than anything else, she was upset by the pureblood's marriage customs.
" There's instances of marriage between third and even second cousins ! For example, Orion and Walpurga Black had children together even though their fathers were first cousins ! It's so gross it's no wonder their sons turned wrong !"
"Now I've had enough" snarled a male voice. "You're going to SHUT UP, mudblood !"
Harry jumped in surprise and summoned his power, but this time his reaction was too slow. A red light hit him right on the chest, and he was powerless to fight against the darkness. The last thing he heard was the Granger girl's scream, as another ray of light had reached her. Then he fell on the ground, unconscious and desperately angry against himself. He had survived alone for years, against all odds, out of sheer will and guts. Now he had gotten some hope at last, and his carelessness had turned everything to waste.
Damn it, he didn't even catch a glimpse of his aggressor's face !
'I'm an idiot' Harry thought bitterly. 'Weak and powerless. Why am I so weak. Why am I... Why...'
EEEEEEEEEEEEEENNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD
Wait, was it a cliffhanger ?
…
Yes it was. I'm sorry.