o0o0o0o

The Twin Feathers

The sight which Harry found outside the courtyard of The Leaky Cauldron was, for want of a better word, magical.

He was standing at the end of a long, cobblestone road, with a row of mismatched buildings on either side of him. The alley, if you could even call it that, was full of people in strange clothes, who shouted strange things at each other and carried bags filled with strange items, but they all looked normal in comparison to the shops themselves.

Harry and Hagrid stepped through the newly formed opening and Harry heard the wall begin to close behind him. He had no idea where to look first.

The first building on his right was a short, square structure with a sloping red roof that was at least twice as tall as the rest of it. Next to the door was a pile of metal cauldrons, which gleamed in the sunlight. This wouldn't have been all that strange, if it wasn't for the fact that several of the cauldrons were in the middle of being polished by floating rags and brushes.

Opposite the cauldron shop was a tall, crooked building made of dark wood, which leaned out precariously over the street. A large sign hung outside, telling Harry that it was a post office, although it was unlike any post office he'd ever seen before. Enormous windows had been thrown wide open on the upper floors, and every now and then an owl would soar out into the sky.

A bit further along, he saw a shop that was built from bricks of what looked like polished metal. Next door to that, was a building which occasionally would rattle and let out a loud bang, all the while spewing colourful smoke from its many chimneys. Beyond that, there was a shop surrounded by large iron cages, within which were many different animals, some familiar and others not so much.

Harry began to walk towards the first shop, eager to go inside and see what sort of things they sold, but Hagrid held him back.

"Not yet Harry," he said, trying to lead the excited boy away, "No poin' yeh goin' anywhere until after we've got yer money. Come on."

Harry first thought was to protest, but as he watched Hagrid walk away, his eyes were drawn to the gigantic building at the far end of the street. Even at this distance, Harry could easily identify Gringotts as the largest and grandest building here. Tall, imposing and made of blinding white marble, it towered over the rest of the alley and demanded the attention of anyone in the area.

Harry quickly moved forward and rejoined Hagrid, his eyes dropping back down to observe the rest of the street again. The further they went, the more interesting the buildings seemed to become. They passed a place called Flourish and Blotts, which had huge piles of books blocking its windows, and then an Apothecary that was surrounded by a very foul odour. Further on, they spotted a group of children, who were around Harry's age, all crowded around one window of a shop which sold broomsticks. Harry wasn't tall enough to look over their heads, but he could hear them chattering excitedly.

"Nimbus Two-Thousand," one of them said in awe.

"Fastest broom in the running this year," said an older boy, "Even the new Comet model couldn't keep up with it."

As they made their way through the crowds, Harry managed to pick up bits and pieces of several other people's conversations as well.

"-charging seventeen sickles an ounce. Ludicrous- absolutely ludicrous-"

"Yes, yes- of course Durmstrang are pushing for it, but without the French we're still-"

"-shouldn't believe everything you read. Merlin, I don't understand why the Prophet still hires that woman for-"

"-swear that those bloody goblins are swindling me- should never have let them get their filthy little claws on-"

Harry was so busy trying to look everywhere and listen to everything, that he didn't notice that they'd reached Gringotts until he nearly tripped on the steps. Up close, the bank was even more impressive. The walls and columns were all pristine white and he didn't think that you would be able to find a single blemish on them from top to bottom. At the top of the shallow steps was a massive door made from burnished bronze. Next to that, stood a goblin.

Harry was glad that Hagrid had already told him about goblins, or else he probably would have spent a lot longer staring. The goblin was about a head shorter than Harry and was dressed in a smart black and gold uniform. He had beady little eyes and his chin, nose, fingers and ears were all very long and pointy. He smiled at them with an even set of sharp teeth and bowed them through the doors. Hagrid nodded at the doorman and pushed them open. They were immediately faced with a new pair of doors, silver this time. Engraved onto the surface were the words:

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

"Like I said," said Hagrid, "Only a madman would try ter rob it."

"Why do they need another set of doors?" asked Harry, "Why didn't they just carve it on the outside ones?"

Hagrid's face turned grim and he pointed upwards. Harry followed his finger and gulped. Built into the ceiling were several metal grates, and the walls were lined with slanting stone channels, which pointed down towards the floor.

"All goblins keep in touch with Gringotts," said Hagrid, "If someone who's stupid enough ter try an' steal from one of 'em shows up here, then they can lock these doors an'- um- deal with 'em."

Harry didn't ask how they dealt with them, he was quite sure that he didn't want to know. Goblins, it seemed, were not ones to be crossed.

They walked through the silver doors and entered a vast marble hall with a high, glass ceiling. At the far end was a huge statue of a goblin sat upon a throne of golden coins. Long wooden counters ran down the length of the room towards it, with very official looking goblins sat behind them. There had to be at least a hundred of the creatures, all hard at work writing in ledgers or weighing huge coins or examining sparkling gemstones through eyeglasses. Here and there, men and women in colourful robes were stood speaking up to the goblins, who only seemed to be half listening. A few people were being led in and out of the golden doors which lined the walls.

Hagrid approached an older-looking goblin near the back of the hall and cleared his throat.

"Yes?" said the goblin, not looking up from the book he was writing in.

"Mr Hagrid," said the giant, sounding a bit put out that he was being ignored, "Here on importan' official business from Hogwarts School o'-"

"Yes, yes- I am aware of what Hogwarts is," drawled the goblin, cutting Hagrid off, "What exactly is the nature of this business?"

"I'm escortin' a new student to his vault," said Hagrid, sounding even more annoyed that he'd been interrupted, "Young Mr Potter here, I'm sure yeh know him."

That got the goblins attention. He carefully placed his quill into his inkwell and leaned out over the desk, peering at Harry through a pair of heavy golden spectacles.

"Mr Potter," he repeated, drawing out his last name, "Harry Potter, is it? Yes, I am equally aware of what you are."

The goblin looked him up and down several times. Harry cringed slightly, feeling like he was some product that the goblin was interested in buying.

"You brought his key, I assume?" said the goblin.

"Oh- yes," said Hagrid, digging around in his many pockets, "Here we go." He produced a tiny golden key which the goblin quickly snatched from his fingers. The tiny man turned the key over in his hands for a few seconds, examining it, then nodded.

"A most notable student indeed," noted the goblin, handing the key back to Hagrid, "However, this is hardly what I would refer to as important official business."

Hagrid nodded and pulled a sealed envelope out of his pocket, "I also have a letter here, from Professor Dumbledore."

The goblin deftly sliced the letter open with a small dagger that rested on his desk. He read it slowly and carefully, his eyes narrowing as he reached the bottom of the page.

"Am I correct," said the goblin, scowling, "That this is pertaining to the artefact currently housed within Vault 713?"

Hagrid nodded. Harry looked between the two with interest, wondering what was inside Vault 713.

The goblin now looked like he'd just eaten something sour, "I see that Mr Dumbledore still holds to the foolish notion that his school is a safer haven than the caverns of Gringotts."

Hagrid bristled at the lack of title on Professor Dumbledore's name. "I'm not here ter argue," he said shortly, "I'm jus' here ter deliver a message an' pick up wha' I was asked to."

"Very well," said the goblin, "I will have someone accompany you to both vaults- Griphook!"

At the shout, another goblin came running out of a nearby door. Griphook looked much younger than the first goblin and his uniform was far less fancy. He bowed low at the group and then hopped up next to the older one, who began to speak in a harsh, guttural language that Harry didn't recognise.

"What was that about?" asked Harry, still confused about what Hagrid and the goblin had been talking about.

"Never you mind," said Hagrid, "S' not anythin' yeh need ter worry abou' anyway."

After the goblins had finished their conversation, Griphook turned back to Harry and Hagrid and bowed again. "This way, if you would," he said in English, turning and leading them back out through the door he'd entered from.

They followed Griphook through several twisting marble corridors, many of which sloped down slightly. Eventually, they went through another door and found themselves in a narrow stone passage lit by flickering blue torches. The floor pointed downwards at a steep angle and railway lines were built into it.

Griphook whistled and a small wooden cart shot up out of the darkness, coming smoothly to a stop in front of them. At a word from Griphook, they climbed in, though Hagrid had a bit of trouble fitting. Once everyone was secure, Griphook pulled a lever at his side and then they were off.

The ride was short and jerky, but it wasn't without its high points. At first, they just hurtled down identical stone tunnels filled with twists and turns, but towards the end, they began to open up a bit more. They shot over a deep underground lake, then zigzagged between a maze of stalagmites and stalactites, then crossed over a chasm which seemed to have no floor. At one point, Harry glanced down a long tunnel as they passed and thought he saw a burst of flame coming towards them.

"What was that?" he hissed.

"Prob'ly a dragon," said Hagrid, who was trying to look anywhere but down.

Harry's head snapped up to look at Hagrid. "A dragon?" he said.

"Yep, didn' think there were any in this section, we got lucky seein' him."

Harry spent the rest of the ride staring at Hagrid. 'How can he talk so calmly about this. It's- it's a dragon!'

They soon reached their destination and all climbed out of the cart. Harry was still reeling from what he'd learned.

"So that's why you'd be mad to rob Gringotts," he said, "Because there are dragons down here."

"Of course not," scoffed Griphook, "Dragons may be the most well known of our defences, but they are hardly the only one."

"What else could you need?" asked Harry, wondering what could possibly be a better guard than a giant fire-breathing lizard.

"All of our vaults are protected by a series of complex enchantments and the oldest ones have all had curses placed upon them by the owners," explained Griphook, "We also encourage many different underground creatures to thrive in the lower tunnels. If one were to get lost in here, then the odd dragon or two would be the least of their worries, Mr Potter."

Harry shivered, not liking the cruel smile Griphook wore. He turned back to Hagrid, who was staring back down the tunnel almost longingly.

"Hagrid?" said Harry.

"Crikey, I'd like a dragon," said Hagrid in a low voice.

"You want one?" asked Harry, as clueless as he was about magic, he was still fairly sure that dragons would not make good pets.

"Magnificen' creatures they are," said Hagrid, looking back at Harry, "Seriously misunderstood too. Anyway, bes' not dawdle, let's get a move on."

Harry followed after him, imagining the giant walking through the streets of London with a dragon on a lead and collar. Griphook led them to a stretch of seemingly bare stone wall and then asked Hagrid for the key. Taking it, he went straight to a tiny keyhole in one of the bricks and inserted it. The cave echoed with a loud noise and a second later Harry saw, not a wall, but an ornate bronze door with the number 687 written on it.

The door swung outwards slowly and Harry gasped. The floor of the room could not be seen, for it was covered by heaps of little knuts. From within the piles of bronze rose tall columns of silver and many fat gold coins were neatly stacked in little alcoves along the walls. Hagrid had told him that he had money, but this looked like it was a small fortune.

"Welcome to Vault 687, containing the Hogwarts Savings of Mr Harry James Potter," drawled Griphook, "Unfortunately, this is all that your current key gives us access to. Quite a shame, I would have rather liked to visit the Potter Master Vault."

"The what?" said Harry, confused.

"All recoverable assets of your family were transferred to Vault 157 after the war and have not been heard from since," explained the goblin, "In the years since then, it has become colloquially known as the Potter Master Vault by the staff of Gringotts, since it contains all remaining assets of the Potters, save the one before us of course. I am surprised that you are unaware of this."

Harry felt his jaw drop as he listened to Griphook. "Y-you're saying that there's more?" he asked.

"Of course there's more," said Griphook, looking equally as shocked as Harry, "We are talking about the savings of an entire family here, boy. While not nearly the oldest or most successful, I hear that the Potters of ten years ago were still not to be sniffed at."

Harry stared at the goblin. "So what's this room then," he said, waving a hand at the vault behind him.

"This is a savings vault for your Hogwarts career," said Griphook, a little impatiently, "It was set to become open to you upon your eleventh birthday, which I assume has already passed. Contained here is the money your parents set aside at your birth to fund your education, as well as a large deposit that was made during the later years of the war. It will remain functional until your seventeenth birthday, at which point the account will close and its remaining contents will be transferred to Vault 157. At the same time, you will be granted full control of all accounts under the name of Potter, which at that point will consist solely of Vault 157, hence why it is referred to as the Potter Master Vault."

Harry just nodded, he was getting used to not understanding half of what people were saying. From what he could gather, there was another vault, somewhere in these caves, that he would be allowed to enter once he was seventeen and the money in front of him was just supposed to pay for his schooling. He returned to staring at what he had thought was a fortune. Despite what the goblin said, it was still more money than he'd ever seen in his life.

"Really, young man," said Griphook behind him, "Do you know nothing of your family's finances?"

The honest answer was yes, but Harry wasn't surprised at that. As he was learning, there were a lot of things he knew nothing about. After scooping some of his money into a leather bag provided by Hagrid, Harry followed the other two back out of the vault. As they climbed back into the cart, Hagrid started to explain how the money worked.

"So twenty-nine bronze knuts makes a silver sickle," repeated Harry, trying to commit this to memory, "And then there's seventeen sickles in a galleon."

"Tha's righ'," said Hagrid, "Shouldn' be too difficult fer yeh once yeh've started usin' 'em more."

The cart rattled to a stop next to a tall door made of dark metal. Carved into the stone above it was a large number 713. Griphook knocked three times and a series of metallic clicks and groans came from behind the door, then it slowly creaked open, to reveal- another door.

Harry blinked. This new door was much smaller and made of grey stone. He watched as Griphook stepped up to it and ran one long finger down the surface. The door began to slowly melt away.

"If anyone other than a Gringotts goblin had attempted to do that, then they would have been sucked through and trapped within," said Griphook, a little too happily.

"Then why did you need the first door?" asked Harry.

"It is made of solid lead and has been strengthened with over fifty different enchantments. There is no spell in this world which could pierce that door," said the goblin, proudly.

Harry turned back to the Vault, eager to see what could warrant such powerful magic protecting it. It had to be something incredibly valuable.

Which is why he was surprised, when all he saw beyond the door was a grubby little package sat on a stone pedestal. Hagrid walked forward and quickly stowed the package away in his coat, then stepped back outside and allowed Griphook to reseal the room.

"What-" started Harry, but he caught himself before he could ask. Hagrid was right, it really was none of his business. He had more important things to think about anyway.

o0o0o0o

Harry and Hagrid stepped out of Gringotts and back into the sunlight. Harry suddenly felt more free than he had in his entire life. The bag of money jangled in his pocket, as he looked down Diagon Alley again, wondering where he should spend it first.

"Yeh may as well get yer books firs'," said Hagrid, "Flourish an' Blotts is pretty close. Listen Harry, d'yeh mind if I let yeh get on with it fer a bit. I jus' need ter pop over to the post office is all."

"What- w-why?" stammered Harry, he did mind. Very much so. As amazing as this place was, he didn't really want to wander around on his own.

"I jus' need ter send a quick owl ter Dumbledore. Let him know tha' I've picked yeh up an' I've got the- er- the thing from Gringotts. Yeh'll be all righ' on yer own fer a bit, won' yeh?"

"Er- yeah, sure- I'll be fine," lied Harry, feeling a bit queasy.

Hagrid smiled and said goodbye before heading off. Harry looked after him and took a deep breath.

'Okay,' he said to himself, 'It's just a bit of shopping, that's all. People do it all the time.'

He made his way to the bookshop he'd passed earlier and went inside. A little bell went off when he opened the door and a young man sat behind a counter looked up at him.

"Hello there," said the man warmly, "How can I help you?"

"Um- I need- er-" Harry choked as he realised that he couldn't remember a single book from his list. He'd known this wasn't a good idea.

The shopkeeper smiled at him and got up from his seat. "Hogwarts?" he guessed. Harry nodded, deciding to keep his mouth shut to keep from making an even bigger fool of himself.

"This way," said the shopkeeper, walking off between the shelves which filled the shop. Harry followed him, trying to read some of the titles as he did.

"What's your blood status?" asked the shopkeeper, stopping to pull a book down.

"Um- I don't know," said Harry.

"Muggle-born then, I assume," he said.

"Er- no," said Harry, "At least, I don't think- I mean, my parents went to Hogwarts if that's what you're asking."

The man looked confused. "Then, how come- were you raised by muggles though?"

"Yes," said Harry, grateful for a question he understood.

"Ah, I see. So you'll want the muggle recommendations as well then."

Harry remembered the second list of books on his letter and nodded. He was sure that they would be helpful. Eventually, he found himself stood in front of the counter, paying for a rather heavy pile of books.

"I'm curious," said the shopkeeper as he took Harry's silver, "Wizard parents, but muggle raised- very rare that is. What did you say your name was again?"

"Er- Harry," he said, "Harry Potter."

The shopkeeper choked on nothing and openly stared at Harry, like he'd said he was the prime minister. "H-Harry Potter- you're the Harry Potter?"

'Oh right, I'm supposed to be legend,' remembered Harry. It was strange how something like that could slip his mind so easily. "Um- yeah, yeah I am," he said, running a hand through his hair awkwardly.

He quickly found himself in a familiar position of having his hand shaken by someone who kept telling him what an honour it was to meet him. He didn't really mind, but he was glad that the shop was empty. He wasn't looking for a repeat of The Leaky Cauldron.

"Really though," said the shopkeeper, backing up a bit, "Why do you need the recommended books? I suppose you're trying to get some extra reading in, but take it from me, those books aren't really worth that much to someone who grew up a wizard. Not worth pretending like you're muggle-born."

"Um- no," said Harry, "I actually do need those books. I- er- grew up with my aunt and uncle- they're both muggles."

"Really?" said the man, managing to somehow look even more surprised. Harry nodded, a bit embarrassed at revealing his upbringing. "Wait here," said the man, before disappearing back between the shelves.

He returned shortly with a book bound in black leather. "Have you ever read this before?" he asked, passing it over to Harry.

Harry looked at the title: The Rise and Fall of The Dark Arts. "No, never," he said.

"Well I suggest that you do. Someone like you really ought to know what is in this book."

Harry nodded and added it to the pile. It did look quite interesting. "How much?" he asked, reaching for his money bag again.

"Oh my, no," said the man, looking quite appalled, "I couldn't possibly charge you for this."

"But-" said Harry.

"No, no- I'll not hear a word of it. Imagine what people would say if they knew I'd made you pay for this. Besides, take it as our way of saying thank you."

Harry wanted to argue, but he got the feeling that it would get him nowhere. Instead, he scooped up his books and left as quickly as he could, giving a hurried goodbye to the man as he did.

Once he was outside, he took a moment to collect himself. He hadn't been expecting anything like that. He couldn't believe that he'd forgotten what Hagrid had told him, although in his defence, he had been more concerned about his fortune than his fame at that point.

'If people treat me like that in every shop, then I'll never get this done in time,' he realised, 'I'll need to not give them my name or at least, not my surname.'

Besides the purely practical reasons, he also felt bad about being given things for free like that. Like he'd told Hagrid, he couldn't even remember a time before the Dursleys, so all of this fuss everyone was making just felt wrong.

Harry made his way to the cauldron shop next, so that he'd have something to carry all of these books in. It took him a while to find the right size and make on his list, mainly because he spent a long time gawking at some of the other things they sold. There were cauldrons the size of small boulders and others which would have fit in into his pocket. Cauldrons made of solid gold and cauldrons which knew how to clean themselves. He was quickly forced to re-evaluate his view of a cauldron as just a big metal pot.

After that, he visited a shop which sold telescopes and spent just as long looking at those, then he searched the alley until he found a place to buy quills and ink. Hagrid rejoined him just as he was about to enter the Apothecary and the big man went to the counter to buy the potion equipment, allowing Harry to examine the shop at his own pace.

Unfortunately, Hagrid also introduced Harry by his full name, which meant that Harry once again had to shake hands with everyone inside and once again he was given something for free. This time it was a well-made mortar and pestle with strange symbols carved into it.

"It's self-cleaning," explained the shop owner, as Harry accepted it, "Just tap it with your wand and it will clean right up for you. You'll never have to worry about trace ingredients again."

After apologising for making him go through that again, Hagrid took Harry to a place called Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour and bought them both large chocolate sundaes.

"Righ' then, wha's left?" said Hagrid, checking Harry's list, "Robes, wand an'- oh, I still haven' got yeh a birthday present!"

"You don't need to," said Harry quickly, "You made me that cake and you told me I'm a wizard." That was better than any number of presents in Harry's opinion.

"Tha' was nothin'," said Hagrid, waving it off, "I've still got ter make up for the other ten birthdays tha' I missed. Hmm- let's see- oh, I know! I'll get yeh an owl!"

"An owl?" repeated Harry.

"Yep, dead useful are owls. Deliver all yer post for yeh an' they can take care o' themselves. Not nearly as much trouble as anythin' else yer allowed at Hogwarts."

Harry didn't want to remind Hagrid that an owl would probably be useless to him, since he didn't have anyone to send post to.

"Tell yeh what," said Hagrid, "You go an' get fitted fer yer robes while I go over ter Eeylops. Then we'll both go ter get yer wand together."

Harry nodded, not feeling quite as lost as the first time Hagrid had left him on his own. He'd learned earlier that he just had to tell shopkeepers he was looking for Hogwarts supplies and they'd point him in the right direction.

He parted ways with Hagrid in front of a shop called Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Inside, he saw that there were only two other people, a tall man in forest green robes and a short witch in mauve robes behind the counter, who he assumed must be Madam Malkin. After he told her he was here for Hogwarts, she led him to the very back of the shop. She stood him on a small wooden stool and threw a plain black robe over his head, then started to pin it up at the correct length.

While he was being fitted, Harry looked around at the different robes on offer. Although he knew next to nothing about clothes, he could admit that many of them looked like they would be much nicer to wear than Dudley's hand-me-down t-shirts. However, there were also some that he knew he would take his current clothes over any day.

"So, you're starting Hogwarts this year?"

Harry would have jumped in surprise if he wasn't currently pinned in place by his robes. He looked over and saw the man in green looking at him. He looked to be in his mid-thirties and had a long face with thick eyebrows and icy blue eyes. His long black hair was combed back out of his face and a short beard grew around his mouth.

"Um- hello," said Harry awkwardly, he had not expected anyone to start a conversation with him.

"Hello indeed," said the man in an even tone, "But you didn't answer my question."

"What- oh yes, yes I am," Harry said, a bit put off by the man's calm voice and unreadable expression.

"I wish you a fine seven years to come," said the stranger, "I do wonder though, have you given any thought on which house you would like to be in?"

"Er- what?" asked Harry, feeling a bit stupid.

The man's eyes narrowed the tiniest fraction and his lips tightened. "Muggle-born, are you?" he asked.

"Yes- well, no- sort of. I was raised by muggles," said Harry.

"Ah, I see," said the other man, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards slightly, "That explains much, thank you."

Harry blinked as the man returned to looking at a silver robe nearby. He wasn't sure what that had all been about, but the man no longer seemed interested in talking to him and he didn't dare ask. The rest of his fitting passed in an awkward silence, until Harry paid for his robes and cloak and left.

When he stepped out into the cobbled street, he was surprised to see that the man had followed him outside. He turned to Harry and inclined his head at him. "Take care at Hogwarts, Mr Potter," he said, "It can be both a beautiful and dangerous place."

Harry watched as the man turned and left him outside the shop. He wasn't sure which was more surprising, the fact that the man knew who he was or the fact that he hadn't asked to shake his hand. He pushed the bizarre encounter to the back of his mind for now and set off to find Hagrid.

Once Harry met up with Hagrid outside the owl shop, the giant presented him with a beautiful snowy owl in a cage. Harry took quite a while to get a proper thank you out, he was so overwhelmed by the gesture that he couldn't form his words properly.

As the two made they're way back down the street together, Harry filled Hagrid in on his strange encounter in Madam Malkins.

"I've no idea who tha' could be," said Hagrid thoughtfully, "But, he sounds like a bit of a creep ter me. Bes' not ter think abou' it."

"Do you know what he meant, when he asked me what house I wanted to be in?" asked Harry.

"Prob'ly Hogwarts houses," said Hagrid, "When yeh go ter Hogwarts, yeh'll get sorted in ter one o' four houses, an' lots o' people take those old Hogwarts rivalries seriously. He migh' have a kid who's startin' this year, an' he's hopin' fer yeh to end up bein' bes' buddies with 'em."

Harry thought about that. 'It's possible,' he admitted, 'But he didn't really seem to care who I was.'

"Here we go," said Hagrid, stopping in front of a shabby little shop which Harry might have missed if Hagrid hadn't pointed it out. In peeling gold letters above the door, were the words; Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC.

The inside of the shop was dark and cramped. Only a small space between the door and the counter was left clear, while the rest was filled with tightly packed rows of high shelves. Thousands of neat little boxes sat on them, in labelled spaces.

"Good afternoon, Mr Potter."

Harry jumped. The voice seemed to come from nowhere.

An old man stepped quietly of of the shadows, his pale eyes and white hair shining in the light of the sun through the single window. "I wondered when I would be seeing you here," the man continued, "You are the image of your father. So long ago that I saw him here, though it feels like no longer than yesterday. Mahogany, eleven inches, quite pliable, with a dragon heartstring core. Excellent for Transfiguration."

Harry stared at the man who he assumed must be Mr Ollivander. He didn't like how creepy those silver eyes were.

"And yet," said Ollivander, "I see your mother in those eyes of yours. She preferred a longer wand of yew, nice and swishy. Twelve-and-a-quarter inches, also dragon heartstring. A charming wand, I must say, and very good for charming."

Ollivander chuckled and Harry gave him a nervous smile. "Hello," he said quietly.

"Hello Mr Potter, yes I have been waiting some time to meet you, however it would be wrong for us to continue without mentioning this." He reached forward and brushed away Harry's fringe, placing one bony finger on his scar.

"It is a very rare occurrence for me," he said thoughtfully, "But I must admit that I do not know the wand that did this. Perhaps it was one of my own creation, but considering from where He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named first appeared, I would be far more inclined to believe that it was crafted by Mr Gregorovitch. No matter though, even without its origins, we cannot deny that it held tremendous power."

Harry frowned at the man before him. It seemed like he cared far more about a person's wand than the person themselves. "You can still remember the wands you sold to my mum and dad?" he asked. It was quite impressive.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr Potter," he said proudly, "Even yours Rubeus," he turned, unexpectedly, to Hagrid, "Oak, sixteen inches. Rather bendy, I believe."

"Aye, it was," said Hagrid, "A ruddy good wand, it were."

"Yes, such a shame. I suppose they snapped it after you were expelled?"

Harry also looked over to Hagrid at this. The big man hadn't told him that he'd been expelled. 'That's probably why he's not supposed to do magic,' he realised, 'And why he doesn't like talking about it.'

"I- uh- I've still got the pieces," said Hagrid, shifting nervously.

"Yes, I imagine that they hold a great deal of value to you. So long as you do not use them, of course," said Mr Ollivander, raising an eyebrow.

"No, no sir," said Hagrid quickly, hands tightening on his umbrella, "Locked away in a cupboard at home, they are. Nice an' safe."

"Hmm- well, it is good to see you here again," said Ollivander, "Now, Mr Potter. Would you be so kind as to hold out your wand arm?"

"Er- sure," said Harry. Assuming the wand maker meant his writing arm, he held out his right arm.

Ollivander drew his own wand and flicked it once. Across the room, a drawer slid open and a tape measure flew out, across the room, and began to wrap itself around Harry's arm. It then measured the length of it, then his forearm, then his hand span. This continued for a while, with the floating tape seemingly needing to measure everything, from the width of his arm, to the distance between his nostrils. Eventually, Mr Ollivander flicked his wand again and caught the tape measure as it fell.

He examined it for a moment, then turned to Harry and said, "Follow me Mr Potter," before disappearing among the shelves.

Harry hurried after him, while Hagrid stayed behind, being unable to fit down the aisles. Ollivander led him on a twisting path between the rows, before coming to an abrupt stop at a shelf that Harry was sure he had picked at random.

The old man reached up and pulled down a long, thin box from the top shelf. The label beneath the box read:

Aca. / UH / 9"

1983

"Here you are," said Ollivander, carefully removing the wand from its box, "Give this a wave. Unicorn hair and acacia, flexible, nine inches." Harry had expected just a simple length of wood, but this was a finely crafted and polished piece, which tapered off at one end. A handle was formed by two smooth ridges, which spiralled around the wand at the thicker end.

Harry took the wand. Despite Hagrid's assurances, a part of him was still worried that it would blow up in his face. Gingerly, he waved it through the air.

Nothing happened.

"Ah, I see," said Ollivander, apparently this nothing meant something to him, "Not to worry, few people find their wands on the first try." He took back the acacia wand and replaced it on the shelf inside its box.

The wand maker moved a bit further along and took down another wand for Harry to try. This one was cherry and phoenix feather, and much simpler in its design. However, it too made not even a puff of smoke when it Harry waved it. This went on for some time and Harry was sure that he had tried at least fifty different wands. As Ollivander replaced the last wand, elder and unicorn hair, he gave a deep sigh.

"Well really," he said, "I thought that one would work for sure. You are a tricky customer, Mr Potter." Despite how difficult finding a wand was, he did not seem to mind, on the contrary, he seemed to be greatly enjoying the challenge.

While the old man searched a shelf, scratching his chin in thought, Harry turned to examine another row nearby. The wands did not seem to be arranged in any particular order, however Ollivander could somehow navigate to a specific wand without any difficulty.

As Harry scanned the rows of boxes, he found that his eyes were drawn to one in particular. The label beneath it read:

Hol. / PF / 11"

1339

Something about that box seemed to pull at Harry, he tried to ignore it and look at the other wands, but it was insistent. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Ollivander was still absorbed in the shelves behind him.

Quietly, Harry slid the box out of its space. The box was far older and dustier than any of the others that Harry had seen so far, and was held together with several pieces of frayed string. Taking care not to break it, he lifted the lid away from the box. The wand itself was very simple. It was a thin, tapering rod of smooth red-brown wood, with a knobbly handle made from a darker piece of wood at one end.

Hesitantly, he took the wand. The minute his fingers touched the wood, he was filled with a sense of- rightness. The wand fit perfectly into his hand, and it seemed to give off a welcoming aura, like an old friend he hadn't seen in a long time.

Before Harry could stop to think, he had waved the wand. As he did so, the end of the wand exploded with a sound like a firework, releasing a shower of scarlet and emerald sparks, which bounced off the shelves around him.

"Oho!" shouted Ollivander behind him. Harry spun to face him, his face going red.

'I've done it now,' despaired Harry, 'Why didn't I just leave it alone, I haven't even gotten to Hogwarts yet and I've already messed up.'

"Mr Ollivander!" he said, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have picked it up, I should have just left it alone and let you choose a wand for me-"

Ollivander just laughed, causing Harry to stop his rambling quickly. Maybe this wasn't as bad as he had thought.

"Let me choose?" said Ollivander, sounding very amused by the idea, "Mr Potter, your wand is not mine to choose, neither is it yours. It is the wand who chooses the wizard, never the other way around. It would appear that you have just been chosen yourself."

Harry sighed with relief. He wasn't sure what Ollivander meant about his wand choosing him, but at least he knew that he wasn't in any trouble.

"Now then," continued the wand maker, "Let's see, which wand was it that chose- oh- oh my, that is curious." Ollivander had just noticed the space from which the wand had come.

"Very curious indeed. I wonder why, but we never know do we- oh, how curious." He seemed to be talking more to himself now, than to Harry.

"Um- sorry sir," said Harry, prompting Ollivander to turn his eyes back to the small boy, "But- er- what's curious?"

Ollivander held out a hand and took the wand from Harry. He turned it over in his fingers, observing it closely.

"Wand makers are possibly the rarest artists in the world," he said thoughtfully, "But many forget that it is as much a science as an art. Matching the wood to the core, the wand to the wizard. All of it is a well refined practice, with rules and parameters. Many believe that we have perfected this practice, but in truth we know but a fraction of the true potential of these incredible tools. No matter how long you have been crafting wands, there will always be something to surprise you. This is such a wand for me."

The old man looked up again at Harry, who had no idea what he was talking about. "This wand is holly," he explained, "Eleven inches, with the tail-feather of a phoenix at its core. Such a pairing is exceedingly rare and difficult to achieve. Indeed, I only have three such wands within my shop and this one is older even than I. To begin with, it is a curious wand in and of itself."

"However," he continued, "That is not what is most curious. You see, the Phoenix which gave its feather for this wand gave another feather, from which a twin wand was created. Yew, thirteen-and-a-half inches, a very noble wand. Again, this is curious, as twin wands are few and far between."

"But what is most curious, is who this wand's twin belonged to. A young man named Tom Riddle."

Harry frowned in confusion, "Who was he?"

"A student of Hogwarts," said Ollivander, "Just as you will be. He was a great wizard, and he would have accomplished much, however he, like so many others, fell to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named during the war."

'Voldemort,' thought Harry, shivering. Just thinking the name made him feel unclean.

"What is curious, is that he was the very first victim of You-Know-Who, just as you were the last. It is a strange omen to be sure, that these wands would mark the beginning and end of such a terror. One can only imagine what this will mean, but what is clear, is that we can expect great things from this wand, and from you Mr Potter. Bear it proudly."

Harry took a deep breath. Apparently it wasn't enough that he was a legendary hero among wizards, he was also chosen by a great wand that was surrounded by dark omens. What was worse, everybody seemed to expect so much from him. Whether it was because of his wand or his scar, everyone seemed to think that he was going to become this great prodigy or something.

He already knew they were going to be very disappointed in him.