In the Cupboard
In the Cupboard
By: HarryDude85
When Harry trusted his instincts and opened his first Hogwarts letter away from prying eyes, the difference this one simple act has on the future is astounding.
I don't own any of these characters.
Enjoy.
Harry entered Eeylops. It was a rather messy, smelly place, full of owls of all sizes and colors in cages. There wasn't much space for the customer, as most of the shop was cut off by a counter, behind which were all of the owls. There was only one person in the shop aside from Harry, and he was behind the counter, feeding a few owls.
The man behind the counter looked up as Harry approached the counter. He was a tall, thin man, with a scruffy white beard that sort of looked like owl wings. He had large, yellow eyes like a hawk that seemed to pierce Harry.
"Hello, my boy," the man said in a big hearty voice. "Welcome to Eeylops Owl Emporium. My name is Gregory Eeylop. How can I help you?"
Harry started to say something, but Mr. Eeylop cut him off, "Let me guess," he said as he raised a finger, "you're going to Hogwarts, and you want an owl."
"Yes, sir."
" 'Yes, sir' he says," exclaimed Mr. Eeylop, throwing his hands in the air in celebration of being right. " 'How did he get that one right?' You ask? Well, my boy, when you have been in the business as long as I have, you tend to get used to nice children such as yourself coming in, asking for their first owl. Busiest time of year, the summer." Harry looked around at the empty shop. Mr. Eeylop caught his glances and smiled. "Trust me, my boy, when I say that this is a slow day."
"Now," said Mr. Eeylop, fun still in his voice, but Harry could tell that now that the niceties had been observed, it was time to get down to business. "What kind of owl are we looking for, son?"
"I don't know," Harry answered honestly. "I was raised by muggles, so I don't know the differences between owls. Is there differences?"
"Are there differences?" Mr. Eeylop clutched his chest in mock shock, but quickly "recovered."
"My boy, the differences are astounding. Come on back," he said, lifting up the counter top. "Let me give you a more detailed explanation."
Harry joined Mr. Eeylop behind the counter, and watched as M. Eeylop described the different kind of owls.
"The most dependable owls there are usually are adult owls," began Mr. Eeylop. "While younger and older owl's, do get the job done, there are drawbacks. Older owls take longer than usual to make a delivery. While that may not be that big of a difference if you are writing from here to Surrey, but if you wanted to write from here to Rome, the wait could be as long as three months. Not worth it. Now, younger owls, they are actually faster than adult owls. The drawback is you just have to put up with a lot of crap, literally and figuratively. They never shut up and are so hyper you have to stun them in order to make them sleep."
"Is their any difference in types of owl," asked Harry. "Like is a tawny better than screech, and so forth."
"In my experience, no," confessed Mr. Eeylop. "But, if the owl likes you, and you and it have a strong, loving relationship, then it will work better than any other owl."
Owl's were kind of like dog's, Harry thought. They are loyal, they will work harder, but if they don't like you, they will slack off and be afraid of you. "So how do I know what owl is right for me?"
"You'll know," the store owner said. "Now take your pick." He stepped back in order to let Harry make his decision.
Harry looked at the owl's surrounding him. They all were impressive in one way or another. They all seemed healthy, middle aged – how Harry could tell that, he didn't know – and seemed like they would all be good choices.
Harry was about to tell Mr. Eeylop that he couldn't choose and ask him to pick for him when he saw her. Which was odd to Harry, because the owl could easily have been male, but Harry some how knew that she was a she.
She happened to be a snowy white owl, with large amber eyes and curved beak. She was looking straight at him, as if telling him that she was the right choice.
Harry held his arm out and the owl flew from her perch and landed on his arm. He raised his hand to pet her head, and when he did, the creature cooed. She was so soft, as if she herself were made of snow, but radiated warmth and stead of icy cold.
"Well, well," said Mr. Eeylop. "I am impressed. Excellent choice, sir."
"What's so impressive?" asked Harry.
"I have carried that bird in this shop for near 20 years. Never has she reacted so strongly to any one, not even with me. I think you will be very happy with your selection."
Harry continued to stroke his new owl. He then asked, "How much."
Mr. Eeylop thought for a moment, than said, "Tell you what. Since I like you, kid, and since you seem to get along with her so well, I'll lower the price from 30 galleons and 3 sickles to just 5 galleons. I'll even throw in her cage for free."
Harry paid for the owl, put her in her cage and paid the 5 galleons.
As he headed out the door, Mr. Eeylop called after him, "Have a great life."
When Harry shut the door to the owl shop, he felt his heart start to pound. Now that he had done everything else and had an hour still left until Uncle Vernon came, Harry could do what he wanted to since he first put down his Hogwarts letter; buy a magic wand.
Nothing had made him eager all day as the thought of getting a wand: not seeing his money in the Gringotts vault; not the endless volumes of books in Flourish and Blotts; not even the making of his first friends in Padma, Parvati, and Hermione.
As he walked down Diagon Alley toward Ollivanders, the wand shop, he had his owl in her cage in one hand, was dragging his rolling trunk with the other, and his bags full of robes, books, and other supplies were hanging from his arms. They were rather heavy, and Harry couldn't help think that if the Dursley's hadn't made him do all that physical labor for years, Harry might not be strong enough to carry everything by himself. As it were, he was doing rather fine.
As he opened the door to Ollivanders, which was a narrow and shabby shop with a sign overhead, with peeling gold letters that read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C., Harry heard a tinkling bell somewhere in the depths of the shop. He had the feeling he was entering a very strict library. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair. Harry looked at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. Harry put his stuff, down, noticing that the owl had fell a sleep – he was going to have to name her when he got home – and sat down in the chair.
No sooner had he sat down when a soft voice said, "Good afternoon," causing Harry to jump up. An old man was standing before him, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.
"Hello," said Harry awkwardly.
"Ah, yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon, Harry Potter."
"How do you know my name?" asked Harry cautiously.
Mr. Ollivander smiled. It did not invite warmth like Mr. Eeylops or make him blush like Hermione's. This one made Harry suppress a shiver.
"You may soon hear this quite often, Mr. Potter, but you have your mother's eyes," said Mr. Ollivander, as he moved closer. "It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inched long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand good for charm work."
Harry wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy.
"Yet you look remarkably like your father. He, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it – it's really the wand that chooses the wizard of course."
Mr. Ollivander came so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes.
"And…" his eyes rose to where Harry's scar should have been, and Mr. Ollivander chuckled, looking away from Harry, much to the boy's relief. 'Alright, Albus. I get it.'
Mr. Ollivander saw what Harry was unable to. While Dumbledore was no doubt concerned about Harry's insecurities, that was not the main reason he had given young Mr. Potter a magical tape that he himself invented. He wanted to prevent anyone on Diagon Alley, more specifically, Mr. Ollivander, from telling Harry the truth about how he got his scar.
'Well, I won't tell him about what happened to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but that doesn't mean I have to keep all secrets.'
Taking a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket, he said, "Well now, Mr. Potter. Let me see. Which is your wand arm?"
"Er – well, I'm right handed," said Harry.
"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, than wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of a dragon. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just like no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."
Harry suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.
"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inched. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."
Harry took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.
"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try –"
Harry tried – but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.
"No, no – here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."
Harry tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.
"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere – I wonder, now – yes, why not – unusual combination – holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."
Harry took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Harry's new owl woke up with a loud hoot and rattle of her cage and Mr. Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well … how curious… how very curious…"
He put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious… curious…"
"Sorry," said Harry, "but what's curious."
Mr. Ollivander looked at Harry and seriously contemplated what to tell him with out disobeying Dumbledore. Finally he settled on the truth… or at least part of it.
"What do you know of the wizarding world, Mr. Potter? What do you know of its people and its history?"
"Nothing, really," answered Harry. "I just found out it existed yesterday."
"Well, Mr. Potter, it is a vitally important fact that you must know that not all witches and wizards are as nice and friendly as the ones you have met today on Diagon Alley."
"What do you mean, sir?"
"I mean, just like the muggle world from which you come from, there are evil wizards, criminals. Some of there crimes may be as mild as petty theft or as horrific as genocide."
"Genocide!?"
"Yes, Mr. Potter. And a few years back, not long before you were born, there was a wizard so powerful, so evil, so dark, that even today, a decade after his downfall, most people still fear to speak his name."
Harry was listing with rapt attention, partly out of fear, partly out of pure curiosity.
"What was his name?"
"Ooo, I don't like to say it, Mr. Potter. I doubt you will find a wizard on this kind street who will, and let me advise you, that if you do happen to find one, to get as far from him or her as possible, for they were probably one of his followers."
Harry nodded. "But sir, what does all of this have to do with my wand?"
Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare.
"I remember every wand I've ever sold Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix, whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather – just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand, when it's brother – why, its brother belonged to the horrible wizard I just described, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."
Harry swallowed.
"Yes, 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, Mr. Potter… After all He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things – terrible, yes, but great."
Harry shivered. He wasn't sure he liked Mr. Ollivander too much, although he would be sure to follow his advice about this dark wizard's followers. He paid seven Galleons for his wand, picked up his supplies, trunk, and owl, and Mr. Ollivander bowed him from his shop.
When the door to Ollivenders closed, Harry pondered stopping by Flourish and Blotts in order to pick up a book that would explain more about this dark wizard, for he hadn't picked up any books about the Dark Arts other than his school required one and one about dark animals and creatures, neither of which would have the kind of information he was interested in.
But when he looked at his watch, Harry saw he only had 20 minutes until Uncle Vernon came to pick him up, and he knew his uncle wasn't joking about leaving him there.
With a sigh, he set off back toward the Leaky Cauldron. It was getting darker now, so he wasn't the only one who decided to head for home. When he saw the stack of cauldrons he saw when he first entered Diagon Alley, of which he now has one, school required pewter instead of gold, though, Harry saw a few families filing through the brick archway.
Back inside The Leaky Cauldron, Harry looked around for Tom the bartender, hoping he would be able to thank him again for helping him this morning, but he wasn't anywhere Harry could see. He thought about waiting for him, but his watch told him he only had three minutes. So Harry exited through the front door back into muggle London.
Harry could tell by the stares he was getting that 10 year old boys with many shopping bags, a large trunk, and an owl weren't normal street walkers. So he just leaned against the wall, and waited for Uncle Vernon to show.
Good as his word, when Harry's 8 hours were officially over, Uncle Vernon's car pulled up, with his large, beefy purple head impossible to miss.
"Got everything, did you," spat Uncle Vernon, looking at Harry's owl and many bag with rage, but not daring to say anything, for he saw what he knew to be Harry's wand sticking out of his front pocket.
"Yes I did," answered Harry calmly. He opened the car's trunk, put his school bags inside and, with great difficulty and with no help from Uncle Vernon, his school trunk.
After he shut the trunk, he grabbed his owl in her cage, and got in the front seat with Uncle Vernon.
Without another word, but many glares of hatred at the owl that was now sitting in his cage on the car floor, Uncle Vernon pulled out and started for home.
Smiling down at his pet, Harry couldn't remember a day that was more fulfilling than the one he just had.
When Harry looked at himself in the visor mirror, Harry was surprised to not see his scar. He had completely forgotten that he used Dumbledore's tape to cover it. As he peeled the tape off and put it in his pocket, Harry had two thoughts when he looked at his re-scared self in the mirror. The first was that he didn't realize how different he looked without it. The second was all of the times people eyes would look toward his forehead today and told him they thought he was somebody else. Could he have been the someone they were talking about and the scar made them think he wasn't?
But how could that be? He had never met a wizard before today. How could they have known him?
Harry yawned. He was too tired to think about that. He'll worry about it tomorrow.
The description of Ollivanders shop and about 75 percent of what happened inside the store was taken from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, American Edition, Pg. 82-85.
Wow. I didn't know it would take me this long to finish up Diagon Alley. Now I'm trying to decide whether or not to make the trip on the Hogwarts Express one chapter or break it down like I did hear.
And yes, he will learn the truth about himself before he gets to Hogwarts.
Later.
