Author's Note: It becomes important in this chapter that this story is set slightly ahead of canon, in 21st century.


6.

Poppy and Minerva appeared before me enormously excited one day, and I knew it had happened.

"The Hogwarts letters were sent out!" Poppy positively squealed, breaking professionalism for a moment. "Open up, Harry!"

They handed me a yellowish parchment envelope. Written on it in green ink were the words:

Mr H Potter

The Smallest Bedroom

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

It certainly was mine, right down to the wealthy suburb my aunt and uncle lived in. There was no stamp and no return address because, of course, wizards and witches either used messenger owl or text and email. I turned the envelope over and saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms: a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H. "Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus," said tiny Latin letters around the seal.

"What does the seal mean?" I asked, interested.

"The lion, the eagle, the badger, and the snake represent the four school houses," said Minerva. "Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin."

"And which one will I be in?" I asked.

"That will be decided when you get there," said Minerva.

"You have to try on a talking, mind-reading hat," said Poppy helpfully. Minerva glared at her flatly and I gave her a bewildered look. "What? He does!"

Minerva sighed, rolled her eyes, and turned back to me. "In any case. The H, obviously, represents Hogwarts. The Latin letters are the school motto: 'Never tickle a sleeping dragon'."

"Sage advice," I commented, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, the dragon is meant to represent the school," said Minerva. "With all of its built-in magical self defense mechanisms. Remember, Hogwarts was founded at the time of the witch hunts. It's even built to be large and confusing, to ward off potential intruders."

I was excited to go. Living in a big, confusing medieval castle, learning magic, sounded fascinating.

"I was curious about the witch hunts," I admitted. "Everyone used to call witches Satanic. Magic as the work of the Devil. But wasn't the Devil originally an angel? Doesn't Lucifer have all of God's powers, and God have all of Lucifer's?"

"The argument," Minerva agreed, "is that whether we're angels or demons is our own choice. It's not about the power, it's about what you do with it. We've been chosen and blessed with unique powers. That's why we can both kill, and Heal." She nodded to Madam Pomfrey, who smiled. "But Muggles grew to fear us, so we separated ourselves from their society."

I nodded thoughtfully. Then looked down at the envelope and slowly, carefully, slit the seal open. Two pieces of parchment fell out. I picked up the first. The first two lines were:

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards)

"Merlin was a real person?" I asked, puzzled.

"So was Morgana. Merlin defended Muggles while Morgana was a Dark and violent witch. They lived in medieval times," said Minerva. "That's where the stories come from. Powerful, famous witch and wizard names are used as epithets in our world. 'Merlin!' is a very popular exclamation."

"And this Dumbledore person… he looks really important."

"Yes. In addition to leading the movement against Voldemort, being headmaster of Hogwarts, and having been assigned several titles, Dumbledore also personally defeated the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, he has made several magical advancements and discoveries, and he has a place on the Wizengamot, wizarding Britain's high court of law."

"He must be very old," I commented. "It's hard to imagine anyone accomplishing that much in one lifetime."

"He is very old, and a genius," said Minerva. "He's also somewhat… eccentric. You'll understand what I mean when you meet him."

"He's the one who left me with the Dursleys for blood protection?" I confirmed.

"Yes. In his defense, Harry, you have to understand, most of Voldemort's - or You Know Who's - army wanted you found and murdered in the aftermath of his defeat."

I nodded. Looked at the rest of the letter.

Dear Mr Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress.

It was signed at the bottom. I looked up to find Minerva and Poppy watching me in suspense and excitement.

"So, Harry," said Minerva with false calm, "do you accept?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Really?" I said flatly.

"I must have an affirmative answer, Mr Potter."

I sighed with great drama. "Yes, I accept," I said, and smiled reluctantly when Poppy began cheering. I took the letter and tucked it safely into a drawer for safekeeping. I intended to hold onto it - my first Hogwarts letter - for sentimental reasons.

And as proof. Proof I made it. Proof I was worthy of the wizarding world.

I took up the supplies list and said, "So. Do we go shopping?"

"Yes," said Minerva briskly, recovering.

Poppy nodded to her. "I assume you'll take it from here, Minerva."

"Yes, thank you, Poppy." Minerva gave a small nod. Poppy disappeared with a little pop.

Minerva reached out her arm. "Take my hand," she said. "You can't Apparate yourself yet, not until you're sixteen - a year before you come of age in our world - but I'll give you a taste of it with Side-Along Apparition. Hold tight to me."

I took firm hold of her arm, clutching my supplies list. She turned, and I held on tighter, struggling to turn with her - And then all of a sudden it was like I was being sucked down a very long, tight, narrow tube. My body contracted, my eyes were being pushed back into my skull, and just when I thought I couldn't take anymore, we hit open air, my feet hit the ground, and I gasped for breath, my eyes watering.

"You're doing remarkably well," Minerva commented, as I doubled over, breathing heavily. "Most people vomit the first time they Side-Along Apparate. Then the first time they Apparate they usually splinch themselves - leave parts of their body behind."

"Comforting," I commented, picturing a leg and a pair of eyeballs lying with no owner in the middle of the street.

"Come with me," she said, and I looked up to find we were in a dark, dim, shabby little pub. Smoke drifted over the heads of the crowd, a low buzz of chatter filling the pub. There were some people who looked like magical creatures - one had to be a vampire, with his pale, bloodless face and the dark circles under his eyes, his crimson red drink - but most people were dressed in robes and Victorian era wear - pocket watches and waistcoats, top hats and corsets, handkerchiefs, big decorated women's hats. A couple of people were smoking pipes, all were clutching drinks.

I followed Minerva to the window and looked out over a completely ordinary Muggle street.

"We're in London," said Minerva. "Charing Cross Road."

People passed by, and their eyes slid right over the pub, from the bookshop on one side to the record shop on the other. The Notice Me Not charm was fully in place. I looked at the sign over the pub. "The Leaky Cauldron," it said. I looked back into the pub and saw a staircase leading to what had to be a cheap set of rooms.

"Now," Minerva whispered, "no one knows what you look like, and I never frequent bars and pubs, so let's see if we can get you through without your scar being spotted. The last thing we need today is a celebrity mob."

Celebrity. The idea was a little absurd.

I pulled my bangs over my scar self consciously, and we rushed through the pub and out the back door, to a small walled red-brick courtyard, without anyone noticing. "Was that one man really a vampire?" I questioned.

"Sharp eye," said Minerva wryly, taking out her wand. "Yes, we have all manner of magical creatures - dragons, vampires, hags, trolls, unicorns, centaurs, phoenixes, and everything in between. We have elves, and goblins are the ones who run the bank we will be visiting today."

"How does nobody ever notice a great dragon flying over a mountain or something?" I wondered.

"They do," said Minerva simply. "It's the Ministry's job to find those people and use memory erasure charms. Then there is a whole separate section of the Ministry for erasing the memories of people who, accidentally or on purpose, come upon some sort of dangerous or cursed magical object - it's a nasty business.

"Now. The biggest London shopping center is called The Alleys. To get to it, you count bricks in the wall above the trash can." She pointed at an innocuous trash can set against the wall, and then counted from the direct center brick in the wall above the trash can. "Three up and two across," she said. "This is the brick." She pointed.

"So what would happen if somebody moved the trash can?" I wondered.

"That trash can hasn't been moved in over a hundred years."

"Now I kind of want to move it."

"Mr Potter, don't move the trash can."

"Come on, it would be funny."

"Mr Potter, if you move that trash can, we cannot go shopping in the Alleys."

"Well, yeah. Because we won't know which brick is the right one."

Minerva and I stared at each other for a moment. "Do you know, Harry," said Minerva at last, "I am beginning to revise my opinion that you are nothing like your father."

I grinned. "Okay, fine," I said. "I never get to have any fun."

Minerva sighed, rolled her eyes, and tapped the correct brick with the tip of her wand. The brick she had touched quivered, moved aside, all the bricks around it moved aside, the hole got bigger and bigger - and soon enough we were facing a huge archway that led to a twisting cobblestone street lined with colorful little shop buildings, each one unique.

"Welcome, Harry," said Minerva, "to Diagon Alley."

I stepped slowly through in amazement - looked behind myself and Minerva - saw the archway shrink instantly back into solid wall.

"Now," said Minerva, and I looked forward again. "To our right is Knockturn. It is a haven for thievery and all manner of Dark magic and you certainly will not be going there with me today." She pointed at a hidden passageway to our right. I looked after Knockturn curiously. "But the rest of the Alleys are fairly safe. To our left is Seletschi and then Oxsipit." There was another hidden passageway to our left. All the different Alleys must interconnect with each other.

"First," said Minerva, "we go to the bank. I have business to take care of there for Dumbledore, and we must get the money to buy your school supplies. Now." She turned to me. "There is something I didn't feel safe saying in your relatives' house. Your parents did leave you money."

"Thank you for not saying that within their earshot," I said fervently. "They'd have had it from me faster than blinking."

"I suspected as much. I doubt they as Muggles could have laid hold of your ancient Potter funds, but it's best not to risk it."

"Ancient?"

"Yes. You see, until your father married your mother, the Potters were an ages-old Pureblood family. Very rich, too. You have an ancestor in the twelfth century who invented and bought the rights to several commonly used medicinal potions, including Pepper-Up and Skele-Grow. It's like the Muggle equivalent of getting money every time a Tylenol bottle is sold." My eyes widened. "Yes, exactly," said Minerva briskly. "He was always pottering around in his garden. Hence, 'Potter.' Your mother was quite a good potion-brewer as well, so Potions runs in your blood. It's also closest to cooking, and as it's a physical sensory-based exercise, with a bit of hard work you should be a natural."

"So I have… how much money?"

"All I know is that you have the main Potter family account, which you can't access until seventeen, and then a trust fund your parents set up for you that is replenished every time your money runs out," said Minerva. "But let's go to Gringotts Bank and get a full statement of all your accounts and assets from the goblins."

We walked along Diagon. I turned my head in every which way as we walked down the street, trying to take in everything at once. Cauldrons in one shop window, dragon meat being sold at the Apothecary, boys gathered around a racing broom in another shop window. There were shops selling decorated robes and Victorian era fashion and cloaks and Wiccan symbols. There was a whole shop for technomagic. There was a tattoo parlor. There were barrels of bat spleens and eels eyes for potion brewing, globes of the moon, whirring silver instruments advertised as ward detectors, shops full of messenger owls and magical creatures, shops selling quills and parchment and ink, book shops, music shops selling records and radios with old-fashioned instruments in the window…

It was all so absurd, so wonderful, so incredible. The cobblestone streets and old-fashioned lamp posts, the colorful shops and even more colorful robes and pointed hats.

In a strange way, I felt at home, wonderfully at home and happy, for the first time. I felt like I belonged somewhere. I'd never had that experience before.

I think that was the moment when I truly fell in love with the wizarding world. My entire life after that was one great mission to protect it.

We found a white marble building with Grecian pillars that towered over the other little shops. Standing guard at the doors in a red and gold uniform, holding a pike, was a small, brown-skinned creature with a wicked, clever, pointed face and very long fingers and feet.

Minerva paused me. "A word about goblins," she said. "They are miners, and fine jewel and metal workers. They run Gringotts Bank which stretches all the way across Europe and Africa. They bring you to your vaults because they like to brag about the fact that the money's always there. They are wicked clever creatures, forming themselves an unusually high place in wizarding society for a non-human. They can also be quite vicious and underhanded, especially to a wizard. They have tried to uprise several times, and nearly succeeded at least twice.

"My point is, it is best to keep a quiet, respectful distance from them."

We walked up the stone steps, and the goblin bowed us through a pair of bronze doors. We were now 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.

"Gringotts vaults are as heavily guarded as Hogwarts School," said Minerva seriously. "They are in a kind of deep underground maze, heavily guarded by magical enchantments. Rumors say there are dragons guarding the high-security vaults."

We walked through the bronze doors and found ourselves in a vast marble hall. A long counter cut the hall in half, with goblins sitting behind it. Some were writing in account books, others were weighing precious stones or examining them through eyeglasses.

"I see no humans," I said, frowning, confused.

"Human bankers focus on the magic around the vaults," said Minerva simply. "The goblins keep all the money-counting for themselves."

We walked up to a free goblin. "Mr Harry Potter would like to make a withdrawal from his trust fund," said Minerva crisply, and several curious heads turned in our direction. I looked down. "I also have a letter here from Professor Dumbledore about vault 713."

She handed the goblin a golden key. "Confirmed as the Potter key," said the goblin after examining it for a moment, and the golden key was handed down the long counter to me for safekeeping. The goblin then read the letter from Dumbledore.

"I will have someone take you down to both vaults," said the goblin. "Griphook!" A goblin came forward obligingly and led us silently toward one of the many doors leading off the hall that people were being shown into and out of.

"What's in vault 713?" I asked.

"I cannot tell you, and do not ask about it again," said Minerva firmly. "It is private Hogwarts business."

I fell silent.

We entered 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 mining cart hurtled up the tracks toward us. We all climbed in, and zoomed off downward through cold air and into a maze of twisting passageways. We passed by countless metal vault doors, once a burst of fire - I twisted around to catch it, but we had already moved on - and past an underground lake full of stalactites and stalagmites, and finally we arrived at a metal vault door.

"Vault 687," said Griphook. "Mr Harry Potter's trust fund."

Griphook used the golden key to unlock the door and green smoke came billowing out as the door opened. "What's that?" I asked, pointing.

"Toxic fumes," said Griphook pleasantly. "Only harmless to those who belong."

Inside was an unreal amount of money. Piles, columns, mounds of gold, silver, and bronze coins. I stared, gaping openly. And this was only the trust fund - and it replenished itself regularly. Me, who had never had pocket money or a real gift in my life, me, who grew up in a cobweb ridden cupboard, me, who wore ragged grey secondhand clothes…

I was rich.

Professor McGonagall helped me pile some of it into a drawstring purse bag. "The gold coins are Galleons," she said. "Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine bronze Knuts to a Sickle."

After getting my money, we got back into the cart and zoomed down further underground, into colder and colder air, hurtling around tight corners… We rattled over an underground ravine; I leaned over but could make out nothing in the dark bottom.

At last, we arrived at a metal vault door, 713.

"Stand back," said Griphook importantly. He stroked the door 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?" I asked.

"About once every ten years," said Griphook with a rather nasty grin.

There was nothing in this vault except a grubby little package wrapped in brown paper lying on the floor. Minerva, who was wearing emerald green robes today, picked up the package and tucked it deep inside a pocket of her cloak.

I longed to know what was in the package, but knew better than to ask. She wouldn't tell me, I was sure of that. Hogwarts business, she had said.

"Now," said Minerva, "let's go get a full statement of all your accounts and assets."


We ended up in a private office at Gringotts, sitting across from Griphook at a desk. He showed me a long scroll of parchment full of figures, and my eyes widened.

"This is your trust fund. It just replenished itself because you took money out. That's the current figure. There's the Potter family account - as you can see, the figure is much bigger. It replenishes itself several times a day. So many people buy Pepper-up Potions each day for the common cold that it's only set to refill itself at certain intervals and certain times of day. Cold season is your biggest part of the year.

"That's Potter Manor, which you completely own. It was built in the 1100's, and so was paid off long ago. Once you reach majority, you may move into it if you so choose. That figure is how much it's currently worth. Enough to live your entire life off of if you ever decide to sell it."

Here, Griphook gave a rather wicked grin.

"You also currently own the Black family account. Your godfather, a Black, and his successor, another Black, are both in Azkaban prison, and you were next on the list of possible recipients. If you wish to take complete control of it at this point, you could do so and add the Black money to your other accounts."

"I so choose," I said immediately.

"Very well, we will update our record to reflect as such. Please sign this form." I signed my name on the parchment form with quill and ink, with some difficulty, and the Black family figure appeared on my sheet. I didn't think my eyes could have gotten any wider, but they did then.

"You are now sole proprietor and heir of both Potter and Black. As you can see, the Blacks were a quite ancient and very rich family as well. You now also own Grimmauld Place, the Black family manor, which as you can see is worth quite a bit of money as well.

"Here is their vault key." He handed over a vast, ancient, silver key. "The Black money will be added in equal amount of the Potter money to your trust fund, enlarging it further."

I nodded. "If I might ask… why are the Blacks in prison?" I asked curiously. "You said one was my godfather?"

Minerva and Griphook gave each other a serious look.

"The Black woman was a supporter of You Know Who, Harry," said Minerva gently. "The Black man, your godfather, pretended to be friends with your parents but was really a spy for You Know Who. He's the one who ratted out their hidden location. The Blacks are a very old Dark Pureblood wizarding family."

Unseen rage filled me. "Then I'm glad I took all his money," I said darkly. "Maybe I'll donate some of the Black money toward a charity for Muggleborns, just to piss them off."


We changed some of my wizarding money into Muggle money at the front counter - just in case - and then left Gringotts, my pockets jingling with wizard's gold, and turned onto Selestchi. "It's time to update your look to reflect your new status," said Minerva determinedly, and I couldn't agree more. What kind of self respecting rich heir walked around in baggy old second-hand clothes?

We ended up in front of a vast, gleaming department store called Gladrags, and walked inside to find it had a section for everything, it seemed. Black department signs with scribbled gold writing re-wrote themselves occasionally, and pictures of models on the walls smiled seductively and posed, moving about, each supernaturally beautiful.

We paid to hire a lovely purple-robed to witch to give us a personal tour through each section of Gladrags. "Oh, yes, you do need our help," she said sympathetically, looking me over, and then she whisked me off through each section of Gladrags. I was cut, polished, pruned, dressed, bedazzled, and every other verb you could possibly think of, pushed this way and that, the mirrors themselves charmed to speak and give catty comments and fashion advice - telling me occasionally how well my look was shaping up - while countless purple robed men and women chattered along as they gave me a complete makeover.

I was pulled in, still surprised, looking slovenly, and I was pushed out the other end looking, to use a Muggle term, "like a million bucks," but with very little idea as to how it had happened.

The shopping part was fun, though. I did get to choose what kind of clothing and jewelry I wore, and the spa treatment I got in one section was supremely relaxing. I was taught a lot about what it took to look good, and found a kind of ISFP satisfaction in choosing the right patterns and shades, getting the robes tucked and tapered just right, getting my hands and feet softened and my nails done.

We got me new Muggle clothes, new casual wear robes, and a specially tucked and tapered black Hogwarts school uniform. I also bought a new haircut, contacts to replace my glasses, and jewelry.

My haircut was a messy, short on the sides with more volume on top kind of hairstyle, the contacts not obscuring my face and showing off my eyes more. I wore slim fit designer clothes in Winter complexion shades - for my robes, including black uniform robes, the bottom and the sleeves flared out while the rest of it was slim fit. I bought lots of silver and glittery jewelry - rings, pendants, wrist bracelets. I loved the spa treament for my hands and feet, even buying warm vanilla sugar scented body wash and hand lotion, and I found I genuinely enjoyed shopping for new color shades and styles.

It was okay for a boy to be feminine in the wizarding world, in a way it really wasn't for the Muggle world equivalent. No one looked twice if I bought hot pink clothes or scented hand lotion; no one derogatorily called me a "fag," and I remembered that even if they had called me gay, it wouldn't have been intended as an insult.

I got dressed in a fresh set of casual wear robes and some jewelry, checking myself out in the mirror. It was amazing how much difference that made. I looked… good. More than that, I looked rich.

"The uniform tie and the black Hogwarts robes will be decorated with your house colors and emblem, once you're Sorted," Minerva told me. "Why the choice in scents, if I might ask?"

"Their scents go by season, and it was my favorite Winter scent." I smiled.

"You like winter?"

"Yeah. Christmas is great and snow is fun. Hey," I said in surprise. "That's another thing I like."

I was eating up self-knowledge like it was candy.

Next we went and bought me technomagic. Minerva helped me buy a radio connected to the WWN (wizarding wireless network, which worked anywhere on technomagic in Britain, free of charge and government funded), along with a laptop, cell phone, and mp3 player that did the same. All top of the line.

Next we stopped by the Daily Prophet headquarters - that was the biggest wizarding Britain newspaper - and bought me a subscription. It was filled with typewriters and the smell of ink, reporters working away at desks by dictating to their quills and having the quills write themselves. Hundreds of mail owls fluttered, blinking jewel-like eyes, around the walls, waiting to send out daily and evening papers to all their subscribers. "That technology and this newspaper subscription should help you keep in contact with our world from the safety of your bedroom on Privet Drive," said McGonagall, "especially with that lock you placed on your bedroom door. And the subscription doesn't cost very much per owl trip."

I was watching the latest edition on a nearby stand, which had smiling and waving black and white subjects in all the photos.

Next, we went on one of Poppy's recommendations. She'd noticed in our sessions that I sometimes had trouble sleeping, and so on her advice we bought me a crystal salt lamp and several ASMR audios meant to soothe a person to sleep without the use of medicinal potions from the Apothecary.

We stopped by the bookstore next, Flourish and Blotts, which had books as large as paving stones bound in leather, books the size of postage stamps covered in silk, books with strange symbols filling them, and a few books with nothing in them at all. I had countless questions for Professor McGonagall from the moment we walked inside, and she told me that the tiny silk books were for fairies, the strange symbols books were full of Ancient Runes, and the empty books either used invisible ink or you had to be something magical in particular to read them.

She helped me buy several books on advanced magic I could not do yet - I was curious to learn everything I could get my hands on, and she did not quell my natural curiosity - and some supplemental reading on the wizarding world. She also bought me some wizarding music and fiction. The Hobgoblins were a long-haired classic rock wizarding group from the 70's and 80's; Lorcan D'Eath had a soft, dark sort of charm to him - he was a handsome half vampire. And I was fascinated by wizarding fairy tales, mainly the love stories featuring characters falling in love with monsters and helping them overcome their darker sides.

Then we bought my textbooks, which looked interesting enough - everything from spell books to herb and potion books to books of wizarding history and magical theory were included.

I resolved to read it all before arriving at Hogwarts. I wanted to be ready to go from the moment I set my foot in the door.

We then bought other miscellaneous - a scroll notes organizer, a book on how to write with a quill, several different colors of ink (on my request), astronomy models and star charts, parchment and eagle feather quills, a magnificent bronze collapsible cauldron, a collapsible telescope, bronze scales.

We bought Potions supplies and dragonhide protective gloves at the Apothecary - I bought the tough black expensive Hungarian Horntail dragon hide gloves, and the crystal instead of glass vials. The Apothecary was fascinating, though it smelled horrible, and I walked around examining the different herbal animal and plant parts on display, each ingredient used in different combination with others to create a whole wide variety of potions. I bought a supplementary potions book from the Apothecary, full of little cheats and tricks; it was a subject I was determined to do well in.

Minerva then sighed and said, "I would be in remiss if I didn't introduce you to wizarding sweets."

So she bought me candy and pumpkin juice from a vendor on Oxsipit, explaining to me what each wizarding sweet entailed. The wizarding world had it all, it seemed - from sherbet balls that made you float to never-melting ice cream to candy that made your teeth chatter to chocolate in all manner of wizarding shapes complete with famous witch and wizard trading cards. The jelly beans were huge mixed bags full of hundreds of flavors. The bluebell colored bubblegum could last for days. There was blood flavored candy for vampires and something called cockroach clusters. There were pumpkin pasties and licorice wands and cauldron cakes and quills and snowflakes that melted on your tongue made entirely of sugar. The wizard crackers carried such treats as live mice and party hats, and went off with loud bangs and blue puffs of smoke.

It seemed the delights would never end.

Minerva watched wryly as I got all hopped up on sugar, then she took me sightseeing, past theaters and Wiccan religious houses and little parlors and flats set directly in the Alleys - all the architecture wonderfully old-fashioned, some of it red-brick. Even something as mundane as the grocer's seemed beautiful in my admiring eyes.

We eventually wandered back to Diagon to get two things: the single pet I was allowed at Hogwarts, and my wand.

Inspired by my friendship with Minerva - and knowing I could just message other wizards using technomagic if I really wanted to - I decided to get a cat. We went to the Magical Menagerie, which had everything from jewel-encrusted tortoises to gigantic orange frogs to rats skipping jump-rope, everything rustling and making a loud racket along the walls, and asked for a pet cat.

I was set to a long wall full of cats and walked along, being allowed to choose. I paused, at last, on an elegant looking female Siamese cat. She was not purring or trying to show off for me, as the other cats were, but rather eyeing me up and down, as if to see if I was worthy of her. I reached out to pet her, my hand pausing, and after a moment she let me.

"This one," I said, turning back and smiling.

The clerk at the Magical Menagerie smiled back. "Once a cat has chosen you, they really are yours," she said.

I brought my female Siamese cat out in a carrying case.

And, at last, the part I had been looking forward to most - we went to the wand shop. My first step to having the kind of power that McGonagall had.

The wand shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read: Ollivanders - Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 BC.

"Their family came here in Roman times," said Minerva, noticing where I was looking.

A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window. Apparently, Ollivander didn't need much advertising.

We walked inside with a tinkling bell, and found a small desk behind which thousands of long, narrow wand boxes were stacked neatly right up to the ceiling. There was a dusty sort of library silence in the space, a magic sort of tingle in the dust mote ridden air.

"Magic," I whispered, my green eyes wide. "I can feel it." Minerva looked down at me sharply.

"Good afternoon."

I whirled around. A tiny old man with wispy white hair and wide, pale eyes like moons was standing there. He stared unblinkingly into mine.

"Ollivander," Minerva greeted.

"Minerva. Fir and dragon heartstring, wasn't it?"

"It was, yes."

"You remember every wand you've ever sold? How?" I was curious.

"Mind magic, Mr Potter. It can be used to read minds, and to block minds from entry, but it can also give a talented witch or wizard supernatural powers - the ability to learn hundreds of languages, for example. Or, in my case, to remember every wand I've ever sold. And to look into the minds of my customers and fit them with their perfect wand."

"Wands are sold based on personality?"

"Oh, yes. And the wand chooses the wizard - the wizard never chooses the wand."

"So how do you make wands?" I asked. "What are they made of?"

"There are four qualities. Length, consistency, type of wood, and whether the core is a unicorn hair, a phoenix feather, or the heartstring of a dragon. My, you certainly do have a lot of questions," said Mr Ollivander, looking me over. Then he smiled. "Your mother did, too. Lily Evans. Wonderful girl. Wand made of willow, excellent for Healing and charm-work."

"Charms being the ability to change the properties of people or items," I confirmed. "But, sir, isn't potions a kind of magic, too? Wasn't she good at that as well?"

Mr Ollivander chuckled and turned disbelievingly to Minerva. "He's always like this, Mr Ollivander," Minerva confirmed dryly.

"Very well, Mr Potter, let's set you up with your perfect wand," said Mr Ollivander. He gave me a great deal of measurements with a measuring tape, asked me my birthday ("July thirty-first"), and then left the measuring tape floating in the air beside me and flittered around the shelves with his long ladder, taking down wand boxes.

Here is how it would go: He would hand me a wand, I would wave it, and absolutely nothing would happen. He would then hand me another wand so I could try that one instead. And, again, absolutely nothing would happen.

This went on for a good fifteen or twenty minutes, and I was beginning to get anxious that I was unworthy of a wand, even though I knew that was just my past with the Dursleys talking. At last, Mr Ollivander paused and said, "I wonder…"

He went into the back of the shop, taking out a very old and very dusty wand box. He brought it out to me, opened it up, handed me the wand. He gave me the properties, just as he had all the others.

"Beech wood and phoenix feather, ten inches, brittle…"

I took the wand and felt a warmth in my fingers. I lifted it up over my head, and I didn't feel stupid as I had waving all the other wands. I brought the wand swishing down through the dusty air, cutting through the thickness with a series of sparks that threw dancing spots of light on the walls.

Minerva began applauding and Mr Ollivander cried, "Very good, very good! How curious…" he added in a murmur, as if to himself. "How very curious…"

"What's wrong?" I asked, frowning, clutching my wand - already defensive of it.

"Nothing's wrong, Mr Potter, but your wand is quite peculiar.

"First, it is a very choosy wand indeed, yet capable of an enormous range of magic. Second, beech wood is a very handsome wood, much sought after and greatly reputed for its great power, its subtlety and artistry, a subtlety and artistry that is not repeated in any other type of wand wood unless that wood solely deals in subtlety and artistry. Phoenix feather and beech wood is a rare and deadly combination.

"Second, this particular phoenix only ever gave me two feathers. One feather is in your wand. The other feather… is in the wand of He Who Must Not Be Named."

I felt cold for a moment.

"Yes. His was yew, thirteen and a half inches, but the core is the same. Curious indeed how these things happened. 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."

I stared down at the wand.

"But greatness," Minerva reminded me softly, "does not have to be evil."

"Quite right, Minerva!" said Mr Ollivander. "In fact, beech wood only ever chooses the wise and the tolerant. I always thought it quite curious, that the great Lord's wand match only ever chooses those who are open minded and accepting of all peoples."

I smiled. It was like Parseltongue, then. It didn't mean I was evil, only powerful.

I paid for my wand and Mr Ollivander bowed us from his shop.

Carrying my wrapped wand box, all my other goods floating before us, I asked Minerva, "What now?"

"Now," she said, "we Apparate all your things back to your room and get you set up. I think we have quite enough, don't you?"

I smiled wryly, and reluctantly, I reached out for her arm. Apparition was something I would have to get used to, I supposed - but I didn't necessarily like it.

Hopefully, the bus I would start taking would make for a somewhat easier ride.