a/n; When I uploaded this chapter and I saw the word count, I shouted, "Holy shit!" I definitely did not mean to carry on this long. I don't want to split the chapter up, so I hope you all find this interesting enough to sit through! Thanks for the reviews, favorites, and alerts, and, as always, I hope you all enjoy!

disclaimer; I don't own Harry Potter.

the fabulously vintage world of holly potter

—fourth: the astonishingly absurd and impolite world of wizards

Holly wanted to explode with questions on their way to wherever they were going, but she was also rather occupied with all the information she had just been given. As they walked and then took a bus to London, Holly considered everything. Her parents had been famous? How very odd. It was even odder considering her mother's sister wasn't famous at all. The relations between them must have been terrible.

Holly wasn't sure how she felt about being famous. Famous for nearly killing a Dark tyrannical wizard? Hmm. Holly disliked the idea that the wizard, who was apparently still out there somewhere, had a grudge against her. She knew if she was Voldemort then she would have a grudge against a baby who almost killed her. It would have felt absurd and horrible, particularly after working so hard to reach a goal of power.

But she was not sympathetic at all toward Voldemort, whoever he was. Hagrid was so afraid to speak of him that Holly had to assume the worst. Voldemort was a murderer, and he likely tried to clean up the population by killing all the people he disliked or was prejudiced against for some reason. Holly was somewhat proud of herself at that point, even though she knew it was silly; she hated prejudiced people of all kinds.

Something else to think about was how the wizarding world was run. Holly wondered if there was some sort of government. Were there restrictions on leaving the country? Were there restrictions on immigrants? Were there magical races other than wizards running around? Were vampires real? Was there a sort of hospital system? Did wizards go to law school? What kind of jobs did she have the opportunity to get now?

Holly also pulled her folded-up list of school supplies from her purse. It had come with her first letter. It read:

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

Three sets of plain work robes (black)

One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Dress slacks (black or gray) and button-ups (white) for boys

Pleated skirt (black or gray) and button-ups (white) for girls

Long-sleeved or short-sleeved vests (black or gray)

Please note that it is best to match, and that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags.

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Albert Waffling

A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emetic Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

wand

cauldron (pewter, standard size 2) set

telescope set

brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

Broomsticks? Was Holly truly going to become the stereotypical image of a witch? She hoped she wouldn't have to dye her skin green; that would look truly disgusting, particularly against her shade of red hair.

Hagrid led the way down a few streets in London. He parted the crowds like Moses parted the Red Sea; Holly had to make sure to keep up with him or stay close behind him. She didn't doubt, however, that she would be able to locate him if she lost him: he easily towered over everyone else on the sidewalks.

They passed all sorts of interesting shops and cinemas, but Hagrid stopped at a rundown pub on a corner of a dark alleyway, right beside a record shop. "This is it," said Hagrid almost proudly. "The Leaky Cauldron. It's a famous place."

It didn't look very famous to Holly, but considering the fact that she was, apparently, famous and hadn't known it, she knew she couldn't judge. The outside of the building was small and dark. The windows looked like they needed a good pressure-washing.

Hagrid led the way inside. The inside was no better than the outside; it was shabby and badly lit. Holly felt a little uncomfortable standing there in her nice clothes. Hagrid seemed to fit right in in that horrid overcoat of his.

However, the people inside the pub made up for its other lackluster qualities. There were witches and wizards everywhere. Some read newspapers—with moving pictures; Holly had to rub her eyes to make sure she wasn't dreaming it up—and others stirred tea without using their hands at all. There was a group of people in their early twenties playing some card games in the back and laughing loudly.

The majority of the people looked up when Hagrid and Holly entered, and many of them waved. "'Lo," Hagrid said to almost everyone in passing, nodding at them. They all nodded and smiled back and offered greetings.

When they passed the bartender, the man called out, "The usual, Hagrid?"

"Can't Tom, I'm on Hogwarts business," said Hagrid. He must have intended to pat Holly's shoulder but he nearly flung her to the ground.

"Good Lord," said the bartender, leaning over to squint at Holly. "Is this—can this be—?"

The pub went entirely silent. Holly remembered that Petunia would have been shocked and affronted if she acted anything other than a proper lady. So she smiled at Tom and managed not to look around at everyone else. "Hello," she said politely.

"Bless my soul," Tom whispered. "Holly Potter…what an honor."

He rushed around the back of the bar and around to the front, where Holly was standing. Tom took her hand in his, shaking it. There were actual tears in his eyes. "Welcome back, Ms. Potter, welcome back."

"Thank you," said Holly, patting his hand. The poor dear must have lost someone important to Voldemort. That was the only reason Holly could think of for his emotional reaction to her simply standing here.

In the next minute nearly everyone in the Leaky Cauldron had lined up to shake Holly's hand. Holly was not quite sure how she felt about this. She smiled at people and patted their hands and thanked them, and she decided to compliment them when she could find something to genuinely compliment. Hagrid stood just behind her the whole time.

By the end of it all Holly was grateful for Hagrid. At least he wasn't like this, she thought, as a very emotional woman was shuffled away by her friends.

One of the last few people to walk up to Holly was a tall nervous-looking man in a purple turban. He was very pale and he seemed to keep twitching. "Professor Quirrell!" said Hagrid from behind Holly. Holly was unpleasantly surprised; she hoped she would not have this man for a teacher, as he seemed rather incompetent, scared of his own shadow. "Holly, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."

Oh, well. There was nothing to be done about it, then. Holly had to make the best of it. "What do you teach?" she asked Quirrell lightly.

"D—Defense Against the D—D—Dark Arts," Quirrell reported, stammering horribly. "N—not that you need it, eh, P—P—Potter? C—can't tell you how p—pleased I am to meet you." He sort of smiled, or attempted to. "You'll be g—getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g—got to p—pick up a new b—book on vampires, m—myself."

Holly was sort of proud of him for his valiant attempt at regular conversation. Hagrid decided to pull her away, then, though. "Come on, Holly," he said. "Must get on—lots ter buy."

"I'll see you at Hogwarts, Professor," Holly told Quirrell. He did his sort of smile again as she walked off with Hagrid. They exited the back of the bar and entered a small walled courtyard. It was smelly and hot there, and Holly wrinkled her nose, trying to keep from covering it. The source of the smell was several trash cans lined up against one wall.

Hagrid grinned over at Holly. "Told yeh, didn't I? Told yeh you was famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin' ter meet yeh—mind you, he's usually tremblin'."

"He seemed like a very nervous fellow," said Holly.

"Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin' outta books but then he took a year off ter get some firsthand experience… They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit o' trouble with a hag—never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject. Now, where's me umbrella?"

Holly watched absently as Hagrid pawed through the many pockets of his overcoat. She felt rather badly for poor Professor Quirrell; she wondered why the Headmaster had not just let the man go for the sake of his health. She also wondered at Hagrid's mentions of vampires and hags: she supposed she had been right, and that there were further magical races in the world. The thought was both astounding and exciting—there was so much to learn.

Hagrid managed to pull out a pink umbrella. Holly watched with interest now as Hagrid pointed the umbrella at bricks in the furthest wall. "Three up…two across," he mumbled to himself, following his own directions. "Right—and stand back, Holly."

Holly obeyed immediately. Hagrid tapped the wall three times.

The bricks all seemed to shiver. Then a hole appeared in one of them, and it spread to the others, until quite suddenly there was no wall at all. Beyond where the wall used to be was a long bustling street stuffed full of colorful shops and quick-moving people. Holly saw children running into shops and harried parents trying to keep up; she saw vendors on the sides of the streets trying to sell their wares to the passers-by; she saw lone people wandering along; she saw groups of friends with shopping bags.

"How brilliant," Holly said, a smile spreading across her face. She could have stood there and studied the street for hours if not for the smell of the trash cans.

"Isn' it?" said Hagrid, grinning broadly. "Welcome to Diagon Alley." He led the way between the leftover brick walls; Holly glanced back and noticed that the original wall they had come through was already back in its place. That was the first time she'd seen magic, she realized—well, done purposefully. It was amazing.

"We'll get yer money first," Hagrid said. He led the way down the street; people moved out of his way again, as Holly followed close behind. She caught sight of another girl with bushy brown hair looking around at everything, too, and she decided that she was also a first year who knew nothing about wizards.

Holly wondered how that was possible. Were wizards only allowed to have kids with other wizards? Did wizards ever come from Muggles? Her questions were only piling up, and she wasn't entirely sure she wanted Hagrid's long-winded answers. She briefly considered sending Deputy Headmistress McGonagall another letter.

The bank was the largest building at the end of the street, settled on a corner just before a turn into another darker alley. Holly looked down the dark alley in interest and curiosity, but before she could see more than a man with long blond hair, Hagrid was tugging her along into Gringotts. "Tha's Knockturn Alley," said Hagrid in a low voice, as they entered the white marble building. "Yeh don' wanna be goin' there."

Holly started to ask why, but was suddenly distracted by the sight of what had to be a goblin. There were, in fact, goblins all over the inside of Gringotts. Holly had to force herself not to stare; gaping was not ladylike in the least. The goblins were a small, wrinkly bunch, all with pointy noses and long pale fingers. They all seemed to be judging her harshly in passing. Holly preferred emotional responses.

Hagrid led the way to what seemed to be the main counter. It was tall and wooden, at the very end of the massive main room. There was no line. "Morning," said Hagrid to a goblin at this front desk. "We've come ter take some money outta Ms. Holly Potter's safe."

"You have her key, sir?"

"Got it here somewhere," said Hagrid. He returned to that never-ending task of searching through his overcoat's pockets. Holly looked up at the pretty tiled ceiling overhead as Hagrid tried to find the key. Holly made a mental note to ask for the key herself later. "Got it," Hagrid said a moment later. The key was tiny and golden.

The goblin examined the key closely. "That seems to be in order."

"An' I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," said Hagrid. He seemed proud of himself for having such an important letter. "It's about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen."

Holly's burning curiosity made her decide that there was something of intriguing and grand importance in vault seven hundred and thirteen. If she was to know about it, however, she knew Hagrid would have simply said the word. She decided to find out what it was for herself.

Hagrid handed the goblin the letter and the goblin read it. "Very well," said the goblin after a few minutes of deliberation. "I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!"

What an absurd name, Holly thought. Perhaps it was a tradition of goblins to combine two strange words for names. Griphook, a sour-looking goblin, led the way out of the main room and down a hallway. At the end of the hall they entered a narrow stone passageway. After climbing down several flights of very steep steps that made Holly nervous, Griphook stopped in front of railway tracks and whistled.

A small railway cart came hurtling up to them. They all climbed in together and Holly tried very hard not to be smushed accidentally by Hagrid's wide girth. Once they were all in, the cart took off at the speed of light. It was utterly glorious—whipping around the corners and hurtling down dips in the railway made Holly think of a rollercoaster. She adored them.

Hagrid, she decided, would have hated rollercoasters, if he could fit in one. He looked slightly green. She hoped he wouldn't puke on her; she already felt about ready to lose her hat—she'd taken to holding onto it with one hand—and she didn't want to lose her dress to Hagrid vomit.

When the cart finally stopped after its thrilling ride, they were directly beside a small vault cut into the stone wall. Hagrid climbed out immediately and had to lean against the wall to catch his breath. Griphook unlocked the door with Holly's key; the door opened. Green smoke billowed out toward them and for a moment Holly's breath caught in her throat. She coughed as the smoke cleared.

Inside the vault there were, to Holly's pleased astonishment, piles and piles of different-colored coins. Am I rich? was her first thought. "All yours," said Hagrid, having evidently gotten over the cart ride there. He smiled at Holly, who had to work to disguise her completely floored feeling.

Hagrid helped Holly stow away a good amount of coins into a small bag. Holly also crammed some money into her purse. As they went about this business Hagrid explained: "The gold ones are Galleons. Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it's easy enough." Holly rather thought differently. "Right, that should be enough fer a couple o' terms, we'll keep the rest safe for yeh."

"For me?" Holly echoed, before she could stop herself. "May I have my key, please?"

Hagrid raised his eyebrows. "Sorry ter say, but yeh don't really own this vault," he admitted, scratching at his great beard. "Yeh'll have to talk ter Dumbledore about it."

The wizarding world and the way it worked seemed to grow increasingly absurd. "Well, all right then," said Holly, because there was nothing else she could say.

Hagrid turned to Griphook. "Vault seven hundred and thirteen now, please—and can we go more slowly?"

"One speed only," said Griphook, either delighted or bored by Hagrid's plight.

Together they all clambered back into the cart, after Griphook locked Holly's vault. Holly was still rather upset with the idea that somehow she was not allowed to have proper access to her own money. Who was this Dumbledore fellow? What right did he have to keep her from using what money she desired? Did he presume to think she would immediately spend it all upon gaining access to it? How curiously absurd!

The cart traveled even deeper, and seemed to rocket around corners even more quickly. Holly very nearly fell out of the cart after one particularly brain-shaking curve. Hagrid kept moaning quietly to himself. Holly grew increasingly worried about the large man's state of mind.

Finally, when the cart rattled to a halt, Holly caught sight of vault seven hundred and thirteen. There was no keyhole. Griphook told Hagrid, "Stand back," and touched the door with a finger. The door seemed to melt away.

Holly craned her neck from where she still sat in the cart to try and see inside the vault. She could only see Hagrid picking up a small package wrapped in brown paper; he stuck it into one of his many coat pockets. Then he walked back over to sit down in the cart again. "We'll be out of here soon," Holly said to him, hoping to alleviate some of his evident stress.

"We'd better," Hagrid muttered. "Don't ask me questions on the way back, it's best if I keep me mouth shut."

Holly agreed and consequently kept to herself on the return trip. When she and Hagrid finally made it back out into the bright sunlight of the afternoon, Hagrid let out a breath of relief and relaxed. "Might as well get yer uniform," said Hagrid. He nodded in the direction of Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Listen, Holly, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts."

"I don't mind," said Holly politely. "If I've finished buying my robes by the time you return I'll probably be buying my other uniform things."

"Okay, good," said Hagrid, before he turned and stumbled off.

Holly stopped by a vendor on her way to Madam Malkin's to buy herself a sandwich wrap and a bottle of water. Once she had eaten this—she had been getting quite hungry, as she'd missed lunch—she headed for Madam Malkin's, feeling refreshed. It only took her about fifteen minutes to eat, and she supposed Hagrid would definitely be back before she left Madam Malkin's.

The shop was neatly decorated, and there were robes on display everywhere Holly happened to look. There was a small area for waiting customers; a tall, regal woman with blonde hair sat there, along with a man with long blond hair. Holly remembered having caught a glimpse of the man in Knockturn Alley. She smiled and nodded politely at them before turning to walk over to the counter.

When nobody appeared, Holly picked up the little silver bell settled on the counter and rang it twice. A short, plump woman with curly hair emerged from the back. She was wearing robes of a particular shade of purple. Holly could only guess at mauve. "Afternoon," Holly said to the woman. "I'd like to purchase robes for Hogwarts, please."

"Oh, I've got the lot here, dear," said the woman. She started to lead the way into the back again. "We have a young man being fitted up just now, in fact."

Holly trailed after the woman—who had to be Madam Malkin—into the back of the store. It was much messier than the front and seemed slightly more realistic. There was another woman scurrying about with measuring tape and pins in her mouth.

The other Hogwarts student was standing on a footstool while the other witch worked on his fittings. He was kind of short but still managed to seem a little gangly. He had the same shade of blond hair as the two regal people in the front of the shop, and his hair was pushed back with some kind of gel. Holly was surprised. She had thought the style had been out of date for decades. It didn't look bad on him, necessarily; it only made his features more pointed.

Holly stood up on a footstool beside the boy. Madam Malkin took her hat and her purse and then slipped a long black robe on over her head. Holly felt rather as though she was drowning in the material. "Hello," said the boy politely, as Holly was occupied trying to figure out the entire idea behind robes—why were they necessary at all? "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," said Holly.

"I'm about to drag my parents off to look at racing brooms," said the boy. He sounded somewhat disinterested even with his own conversation. "I don't see why first years can't have their own."

"I don't either," said Holly. "Perhaps they underestimate our intelligence."

"I should hope not," said the boy. "Have you got your own broom?"

"No, I haven't," Holly replied.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"Well, no," said Holly, who had no idea what Quidditch was. She guessed it had to do with owning a broom, unless the boy was fond of complete non sequiturs, so on a whim she added, "I haven't got a broom."

The boy spared her a side-glance. "How unfortunate," he remarked, still sounding bored. "I play—Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree."

How dull, Holly thought. She was finding the boy just as uninteresting as he seemed to find her. Arrogance was utterly boring.

"Know what house you'll be in?" the boy asked.

"Haven't any idea," Holly answered. She hadn't any idea what he was referring to, either, but she kept that information to herself.

The boy shrugged. The witch adjusting his robes looked annoyed. "Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they? But I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been—imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"What's wrong with Hufflepuff?" asked Holly, more out of curiosity than desire to defend it.

"Well, they never win anything, and they've only got the people who don't fit in anywhere else in their house," said the boy. He was looking at Holly with more interest now. "Why, d'you want to be in it?"

Holly had to consider. "No," she admitted. It didn't sound very nice. "But there's no need to announce its shortcomings; it's rather impolite."

The boy snorted. "And correcting me is polite?"

"What if you were to run into someone who was very dedicated to Hufflepuff later?" Holly pointed out. "And you insulted it immediately? I don't think you'd get on very well with whoever that was."

"If they like Hufflepuff I don't want to," said the boy somewhat nastily.

"Too bad for you when we all grow up and they end up your manager," said Holly.

The boy looked momentarily startled, as if such an idea had never occurred to him, and then annoyed. Holly thought knowing was better than purposefully leaving yourself in the dark, so his irritation didn't bother her.

Holly looked back toward the front of the store. She could see the boy's parents in the small front lobby; and, just outside the front windows, Hagrid suddenly appeared. He was holding two ice creams, and he waved and then gestured at them, to show that he couldn't come in with them. Holly smiled back and hoped he'd bought vanilla.

"I say, look at that man!" blurted the boy beside her.

"Oh, that's Hagrid," said Holly. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh," said the boy. "He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

"I don't think so," Holly answered. "He seems to run a lot of errands for the headmaster, but I'm fairly certain he's not a servant." She thought he might be too outspoken for a servant. Did wizards have servants? Holly was coming to realize that the more she learned about the wizarding world the more questions she had.

"Well, I heard he's a sort of savage," said the boy. "Lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed."

Holly looked back out at Hagrid with the ice cream, now facing out toward the street. The boy's words sounded either rehearsed or remembered, as if his father used to say them so often he just remembered them. This boy was growing increasingly dull. "I doubt that," said Holly. "They would fire him if he did such inane things as that." She was proud of herself for remembering the word 'inane.' "And there's no need for you to be so astonishingly rude about rumors you've only heard people say before. The truth is much better."

The boy let out a short, bitter laugh of annoyance. "The truth is much better, eh? And what is the truth?"

Holly eyed him calmly. "The truth is that if you do not stop moving she will prick you with a pin."

And, indeed, the witch who was trying to fit the boy's robes was looking angrier and angrier. "Why is that man with you, anyway?" the boy almost demanded. "Where are your parents?"

Holly's opinion of the boy had bypassed dull and gone into astoundingly impolite. "I do not even know your name. I am not going to rehash my history to you in detail."

"They were our kind, weren't they?" the boy persisted.

"Would it matter if they weren't?" asked Holly, who still wasn't sure if this was possible.

"Of course!" said the boy. He felt very strongly about this issue, apparently. "They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter. Imagine! I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families."

"Isn't that a bit incestuous?" asked Holly. She'd heard Petunia mention it about some celebrity once.

"What?" said the boy.

"That's you done, my dear," Madam Malkin said to Holly. Holly cheerfully removed the robes and headed to the front of the store with Madam Malkin, leaving the blond boy in the back.

Out of a requirement for politeness only, Holly glanced back before leaving the boy's line of sight. "Have a good afternoon," she said to him.

He snorted. "You too."

Holly wondered if all wizards were this way. Hagrid, she supposed, was a giant, and not a wizard; then again, she had seen him do magic in that ugly courtyard outside the Leaky Cauldron. Furthermore, Professor Quirrell had seemed nice enough, although scared to death of everything in sight.

After purchasing her new robes at Madam Malkin's, Holly went outside to join Hagrid. Her ice cream was starting to melt. Holly thought it miraculous that it hadn't melted yet. "Thanks," said Holly happily, as she began to eat it. He had bought chocolate, but she didn't mind. "I met a very dull boy in there. He said he was going to Hogwarts as well. What are the houses?"

"Oh, tha's right," said Hagrid. "I keep forgettin' yeh don' know anythin' about Hogwarts. There are four houses—Gryffindor, that's the best in my opinion, everyone's brave and selfless. Ravenclaw's good too, everyone's smart there—people say Hufflepuff are a lot o' duffers, but I think Slytherin's the worst. There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one."

Holly frowned. She had disliked the boy's drawling arrogance from before, but Hagrid's prejudice against Slytherin also seemed altogether unfounded. Holly thought she should probably not correct a possible future teacher on his manners, but she wanted to ask him why he felt it necessary to be so astoundingly impolite. Were all wizards this way? Holly hoped never to forget her manners.

"Is Quidditch a sport?" Holly inquired, mostly to change the subject.

"Yes, a real inter'stin' one too—I don' like it meself, afraid o' heights—blimey, yeh really don' know much, do yeh?"

Holly tried not to feel offended. "Not having been raised in a wizarding home, I would not expect to know much," she said. She feared she may have sounded slightly colder than she wanted, so she added, "It was that boy in Madam Malkin's that made me wonder. He said people from Muggle families shouldn't even be allowed into Hogwarts."

"Yer not from a Muggle family," said Hagrid. Holly stifled a sigh; he seemed to be missing the point entirely. "If he'd known who yeh were—he's grown up knowin' yer name if his parents are wizardin' folk. You saw what everyone in the Leaky Cauldron was like when they saw yeh. Anyway, what does he know about it, some o' the best I ever saw were the only ones with magic in 'em in a long line of Muggles—look at yer mum! Look what she had fer a sister!"

"How rude!" Holly burst before she could stop herself. "Aunt Petunia tries very hard!"

Hagrid looked uncomfortable. He seemed to redden before quickly averting his gaze. "Anyway," he said. "About Quidditch. It is a wizardin' sport—it's like—like soccer in the Muggle world—everyone follows Quidditch—played up in the air on broomsticks and there's four balls—sorta hard ter explain the rules."

Holly was still rather irritated with the man, and she did not dignify his valiant attempt at conversation with an answer. They moved on to purchase the rest of her uniform—Holly picked out several sets of both gray and black—before heading to pick up more regular supplies. Holly soon found herself loaded down with apparently absurd materials such as quills and inkwells; why on Earth, she wanted to know, hadn't wizards discovered pens?

The most interesting part thus far was the trip to Flourish and Blotts, the main bookstore. Holly, whose tastes were purely classic, surprised herself by wanting to buy a variety of nonfiction. She wanted to learn as much as she could about the wizarding world. She bought at least two political books and one on the history of the Ministry of Magic. Hagrid stopped her from buying a book on funny jinxes; he told her, "Yer not ter use magic in the Muggle world except in very special circumstances, and yeh can't jinx anyone at school. An' anyway, yeh couldn' work any of them curses yet, yeh'll need a lot more study before yeh get ter that level."

That was disappointing, but Holly decided the rest of the day was exciting enough not to let that get her down. She bought a pewter cauldron and saw a variety of incredibly odd items that apparently went into potions. After leaving this place of genuine oddities, Hagrid paused to read over Holly's list again. Since her outburst some time past she and Hagrid had gotten back onto better terms.

"Just yer wand left," Hagrid announced. "Oh, yeah—an' I still haven't got yeh a birthday present."

Holly thought of the sticky cake back home in her room, probably already devoured by Dudley. "You really mustn't," said Holly. "I've only just really met you. Besides, you already gave me a cake earlier."

"Oh, I want to," said Hagrid. "I knew yer parents an' all." He suddenly looked upset, and Holly hoped he wouldn't burst into tears in the middle of the bustling street. "Tell yeh what—I'll get yer animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh'd be laughed at—an' I don' like cats, they make me sneeze. I'll get yer an owl. All the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer mail an' everythin'."

Holly thought she might like to have a cat, but Hagrid's point did make sense; owls were much more useful. A cat might have been nice to cuddle with in the winter, but an owl made communication easier. In fact, Holly was already thinking of the letters to write to Deputy Headmistress McGonagall when she arrived home.

Soon she had her means to send those letters: a white snowy owl, the prettiest one in Eeylops Owl Emporium. "Oh, Hagrid," Holly declared, unable to stop staring at her new owl. "Thank you so much!"

She repeated her thanks so often that Hagrid was starting to grow embarrassed. "Don' mention it," he said multiple times.

Hagrid led the way to Ollivander's, which was one of the various wand shops in the long alley. Hagrid reported that it was the best. The front of the store made Holly think that the owner didn't care enough to keep up its appearance, but she thought of the Leaky Cauldron and the wondrous world it led to and decided not to judge quite yet.

Inside was dark and somewhat gloomy. There were shelves upon shelves of small rectangular black boxes with little white labels on the sides. Holly looked around for a moment; there was a counter in front of them, but nobody seemed to be working there, and there was no bell to summon anyone.

Holly glanced back at Hagrid, who looked nonplussed.

"Good afternoon," said someone quite suddenly. Holly's head snapped back toward the counter; an elderly man with hunched shoulders had appeared. He had large blue eyes that he blinked owlishly at Holly with.

"How do you do?" said Holly.

"Ah, yes," said the man, whom Holly could only assume was Mr. Ollivander. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you here soon. Holly Potter." Mr. Ollivander paused to study her for a moment. "You have your father's eyes. It seems only yesterday he was in here himself, buying his first wand. Eleven inches, mahogany. Made for power and transfiguration."

Mr. Ollivander leaned forward slightly. Holly took the smallest of steps backward. She wished the man would blink. As it was he seemed rather like a snake. "Your mother, on the other hand, favored a willow wand. Ten and a quarter inches. Swishy. Nice wand for charm work. Well, I say your mother favored it—it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

Then, to Holly's surprise and grief, Mr. Ollivander actually reached forward and poked her in the forehead. "And that's where…" He trailed off for a moment. "I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it. Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands…well, if I'd known what that wand was going out in the world to do…"

Holly, quite indignant at this uninvited touching, straightened up. Mr. Ollivander strongly reminded her of an argument she'd heard out in the world several times against firearms. "It is not the weapon that commits the crime, Mr. Ollivander," she said. "It is the hand that uses it."

Mr. Ollivander looked at her for a long moment. "Wise," he finally said. "Very wise for such a young age, Ms. Potter."

"Thank you, sir," said Holly, flattered.

Mr. Ollivander's creepy gaze traveled past Holly for the first time, and he caught sight of Hagrid. It was, in Holly's opinion, a wonder he hadn't seen the massive man before. "Rubeus!" he exclaimed, in a complete change of attitude. "Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again… Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"

"It was, yes, sir," said Hagrid awkwardly.

"Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?"

Expelled? Holly couldn't help but take a quick peek back at Hagrid when this was mentioned. Did she have an absolute troublemaker running around with her? He was nice enough, she thought. How on Earth had he managed to get expelled? The only circumstance that occurred to her was that perhaps he had been trying to protect a friend of his.

How selfless, Holly thought, rather proud of Hagrid, even though her theory wasn't even proven. "Er—yes, they did," Hagrid was saying, looking down at his feet. "I've still got the pieces, though," he added somewhat more cheerfully.

That, Holly decided, explained the magical qualities of the pink umbrella. He had used it to reach Diagon Alley, after all.

"But you don't use them?" said Mr. Ollivander.

"Oh, no, sir," said Hagrid.

"Hmm," said Mr. Ollivander. He seemed to have noticed how uncomfortable and suspicious Hagrid now looked. Still, he slowly turned back to Holly. "Well, now—Ms. Potter. Let me see." He pulled a long silver tape measure out of the pocket of his dress slacks. "Which is your wand arm?"

"I'm right-handed," said Holly. "If that's what you mean."

"Hold out your arm. That's it." Mr. Ollivander went about measuring Holly's arm in a variety of ways. Then, for some reason, he seemed to think it necessary to measure around her head as well. Her height also seemed to factor into this. Holly hadn't an inkling as to why, and she supposed skeptically that Mr. Ollivander might not know, either. He did seem a tad bonkers.

As Mr. Ollivander made his weird measurements with a tape measure that moved on its own, he chattered at her: "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Ms. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

Holly blinked and realized that while she had been preoccupied with the now startlingly rude tape measure—of course her chest was not fully developed yet, she'd only just gotten her period—Mr. Ollivander had moved away to look at the shelves. Holly slapped it when Mr. Ollivander turned around to look up at a shelf of narrow boxes, and she could have sworn she heard Hagrid chortle behind her.

Mr. Ollivander looked back. "That will do," he said, and the tape measure dropped straight away to the floor with a smack. "Right then, Ms. Potter. Try this one." He scurried back over to open a box and offer its contents to Holly. "Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."

Holly, already feeling foolish, took the proffered wand and waved it randomly. A couple of boxes fell off the nearest shelf. Mr. Ollivander quickly snatched the wand back, and then offered her another. "Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try—"

Holly waved this one around and managed to smash a vase of flowers on the counter's corner. She winced and handed Mr. Ollivander the wand back. Mr. Ollivander was starting to look puzzled, but also increasingly cheerful. "No, no—here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."

That wand failed as well. So did the next, and the next. After some time of incidentally causing mayhem, Mr. Ollivander finally hurried to the far back of the store. He dug around for a few minutes before returning, a strangely satisfied look on his face. "Tricky customer, eh?" he said, apparently to himself, as he made his way back around the counter. "Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere—I wonder, now—yes, why not—unusual combination—holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

"It also matches my name," said Holly brightly, as Mr. Ollivander offered her the wand.

"Yes, yes," said Mr. Ollivander impatiently.

Holly picked up the wand; immediately it felt warm in her fingers. She waved it: this time a combination of pretty gold sparks showered from the tip. Holly smiled as Hagrid cheered and clapped, and Mr. Ollivander exclaimed, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well…how curious…how very curious…"

Mr. Ollivander wrapped Holly's wand back up in its box with brown paper. As he went about this task, he continued to murmur to himself about how very curious it was. Holly was growing incredibly curious herself; Mr. Ollivander seemed a bit batty, but she wanted to know what on Earth he was referring to.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Ollivander," Holly said, as she dug around in her purse for the seven Galleons he'd asked for, "but what is so curious?"

Mr. Ollivander took her proffered money and handed her the box in exchange. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Ms. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather—just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother…why, its brother gave you that scar."

Holly stared at the strange old man. She couldn't help it. She could not even think of a proper word to describe the situation: how…how…how what!? She hadn't any idea. "Yes," said Mr. Ollivander, looking disturbingly smirk-like. "Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember…I think we must expect great things from you, Ms. Potter… After all, He Who Must Not Be Named did great things—terrible, yes, but great."

Was that her destiny? Holly had no faith whatsoever in any idea of a destiny. She had faith in God and free will, not destiny. Quite suddenly the entire encounter became utterly absurd—ridiculously so. She narrowed her eyes at Mr. Ollivander. Sure, old man, she wanted to say. Sure…

Holly and Hagrid soon left Mr. Ollivander's wand shop, much to Holly's relief. They set out on their way back home to Privet Drive. Holly felt a little strange carting around a snowy owl in a cage, but she smiled and nodded as if it was the most normal thing in the world when she caught anyone's eye. It would be a great relief, she decided, when she was back home and a normal person just like anyone else.

She wasn't sure she liked this famous thing. She thought about it as she and Hagrid stopped for some dinner before her train arrived. "You all right, Holly?" Hagrid asked, as Holly sat contemplating existence and eating a hamburger. "Yer very quiet."

Holly thought about it for a moment. Was she all right? She couldn't be sure. "Everyone thinks I'm special," Holly finally said. "But I know that I'm not. I may be lucky, but I am no different from all those people in the Leaky Cauldron that wanted to shake my hand. I thought my parents died in a car crash up until several days ago. How on Earth could I be special for something I can't even remember?"

Hagrid smiled kindly. "Don' you worry, Holly. You'll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you'll be just fine. Just be yerself. I know it's hard. Yeh've been singled out, an' that's always hard. But yeh'll have a great time at Hogwarts—I did—still do, 'smatter of fact."

Holly knew this was as good a pep talk as she was going to get and nodded in agreement. What she wanted to know was how all these people could possibly expect her to do great things. She liked reading classic Muggle fiction and learning about how things worked. She liked riding her bike and rollerblading around her neighborhood. She liked sleeping over at her friends' houses and helping her aunt make dinner. She liked playing piano and dancing ballet; there was nothing important or special about her at all. She wasn't even eleven yet: how senseless, how illogical did one have to be to think she, plain old Holly Elizabeth Potter, could ever do something great?

But even if the rest of the world was absolutely bonkers, Holly would hold her head high and fake confidence. It was, of course, what a proper lady would do.