Disclaimer: I don't any of the characters or places. They belong to JK Rowling.
As Harry entered Madam Malkin's he noticed two important things. There were five people in the shop, not including him, and one of them had the most complicated music he had heard so far.
He couldn't hear his own music, which annoyed him, but from other peoples' magic he had worked out that the more complicated the tune, the more powerful the person. He could focus in on one person or object to hear them better, but if he didn't it all just mixed into a quiet hum in the background.
Madam Malkin came and greeted him, then put him on a stool and began to fit him to robes when she heard he was going to Hogwarts. Her music was average, but seemed to have more of a pattern to it, which Harry imagined highlighted her skill with clothing. A shop worker was fitting another boy next to him. Neither had the amount of power and skill he had sensed when entering the shop, although he knew that the boy would be formidable with practice. Before he could identify the source of power, the boy said,
"Hogwarts, are you?"
"Yes."
"What house do you think you'll be in? I'm probably going to be in Slytherin. Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad I suppose, but imagine being in Hufflepuff! Eugh."
"Yes, I suppose so." Was all Harry could due to the fact he knew nothing about what the boy was saying. The boy was blonde and seemed to think he was better than Harry, which Harry did not take kindly too. He hoped that not everyone at Hogwarts was like that.
Just then a man with long, straight, white-blonde hair walked over. He was obviously the boy's father, but he was also the powerful presence Harry had felt. He raised his guard.
"Draco, you must not let your mouth run away with you now. It is not the proper etiquette now, is it? I doubt you have even asked this boy his name."
His voice was silky and sinister and as he said this he looked Harry up and down, a calculating look on his regal features.
"Oh" said the boy, looking rather putdown. He turned back to Harry. "My name is Draco Malfoy of the house of Malfoy, and this is my father, Lucius Malfoy of the house of Malfoy." Draco looked at him expectantly, and Harry had a horrible feeling this was an important test of sorts.
Luckily, he was saved when the lady declared Draco was done and dragged Malfoy Senior over to the counter, with Malfoy Junior following, and Harry forgotten. Harry sighed in relief. He was glad he did not have the chance to make an enemy of the most powerful wizard he had met so far. Then again, he considered, he had not met many wizards.
Ten minutes later, his face a mask of passivity, he walked out of the robes shop, a package under his arm. He consulted the list from his pocket. He had his robes and potions equipment. He still needed a telescope, numerous books, stationary, a wand and an animal if he wished it.
Soon he had left the small stationery shops with quills, ink and parchment. He quietly wondered why wizards would use such a primitive form of writing materials. With magic shouldn't they be more advanced than non-magic folk? He had also bought a backpack in the store that claimed to be virtually weightless and could apparently hold many times its volume. So far this claim had proved correct, and Harry couldn't help but marvel. Wizards had it so easy!
Fifteen minutes later Harry entered the large bookstore he had seen on the way to the bank, the one called Flourish and Blotts. He had just purchased a rather nice looking telescope he had spotted at the back of the little shop called Stargazer's. He had to restrain himself from buying a miniature galaxy, and plenty of other devices, but could not help to linger.
He had really been looking forward to visiting the bookshop, for Harry truly enjoyed learning and reading. He had taught himself to read at the age of four, beginning when he hid in a store cupboard in the basement for a day, finding many dusty old learner's textbooks. It was his knowledge and aptitude of putting that knowledge into practice that meant he was respected and quite high in the chain of command in the orphanage.
It was at an early age he had realised knowledge meant power, and that pushed his learning all the more. But the best thing about it, Harry thought, was that he felt himself moving up in the world every time he put down another finished book. He would show them, oh yes! And what better place to start than at a bookshop?
Although Harry may sound selfish, ambitious and ruthless, he also believed in chivalry, nobility and good. Not that he would ever admit it. He thought it made him weak, so he kept hidden, but it was always there, effecting his decisions always.
He perused the bookshop for over two hours, selecting all the schoolbooks required, but many more also. He bought all the standard book of spells series, many spell, curse and hex books, several potion volumes that enticed him, and almost all the transfiguration books. The idea of changing one thing into another intrigued him so much he grabbed all the books on the subject he could find, including Beginning, Intermediate, and Advanced Transfiguration, Animagi: Animal Ascension and Metamorphagi: Challenging Changes.
He bought several bestiaries, including a rather expensive one with detailed pictures. In the history section he almost lost it, buying as many information filled books on the wizarding world as he could. He also bought a few random tomes that caught his eye, in particular Ye Occlumency and Legilimency: In ye minde's eye. A book that he thought would be incredibly useful was Hogwarts, A History. He also found a book called The Feats of Albus Dumbledore which had caught his eye since flicking through he had found a moving picture (apparently all pictures moved) of a huge duel in a battle field. Not to mention he had wanted to know more about his headmaster.
Harry was glad hardly anyone was in the shop, as he imagined the sight of a small, rumpled boy wheeling around a stack of books that was larger than he on a trolley must have been quite strange. The cashier certainly gave him a strange look, as though doubting he could afford all this by himself. He simply gave the man the look he had used a thousand times, which said, don't doubt, don't ask questions and keep working. It was a very intimidating look, and for some strange reason even more intimidating on the face of an eleven year old, probably due to the fact that it didn't really belong there, that look, and that made it creepier, something so innocent marred by such a thing. Anyway, it definitely spooked the cashier, as he sped up and didn't say a thing.
Harry packed all the books in his backpack, quietly paid the substantial sum of one hundred and three galleons, seven sickles and twelve knuts. He then walked serenely out of the door, the puzzled and slightly fearful eyes of the dim-witted cashier following him. The stupid man thought he had just served a vampire or demon of some kind.
Almost too quickly for his liking, Harry found himself done with almost all the items on the list. He had bought a chest, which seemed to be the favourite storage item for the average wizard. He couldn't help but think that wizards were somehow still living in the dark ages.
The only things left on the list were a wand and, optionally, an animal. He would buy an animal later, because he was incredibly curious about wands and magic, and creating it himself. It was the one thing he had been looking forward to the most, but he had deliberately left it until almost last. He did things like that, denying desirables, to keep himself disciplined, as he knew he was the only one who had control over himself, and so someone had to set boundaries.
It took a while to locate the wand shop, as it was rather small, dull and generally very inconspicuous altogether. It was called Ollivanders: Makers of fine wands. Harry was in fact worried as to whether it was the best choice, but as he couldn't and hadn't seen any others he walked in, quietly gathering his wits and inspecting his surroundings.
It was a very dusty place, with a lot of shelving holding what seemed to Harry like thousands and thousands of boxes. Each box was rectangular, and just as dusty as the last. The grubby window held one open box in the display, and inside the box was a polished and carved stick. Harry laughed internally. A stick in a dirty little box gave you magic? But then again he could hear the faint magic of it…
On the mahogany desk was an old fashioned bell, of the type that went "Ping!" when you pressed it. Harry pressed it, and almost, just almost, flinched when the intrusive sound vibrated in the empty room. Harry didn't like it; it was too much like a library.
The whole place was humming with the wands' magic. It was quite faint, considering that you needed a wizard to actually use the wand, therefore it held only the remnants of spells cast and the magic of the core.
Harry spun round suddenly, sensing a presence, or more like hearing a presence. It was strange, the hearing magic thing. It bothered Harry a bit that he had no control over it. He knew he would learn, and he would find it incredibly useful, but right now it was definitely strange. He hadn't even thought about it as he spun round. His instincts had simply told him to.
His instincts had been right. There was a man standing there, looking as dusty and grey as his shop. But Harry knew that was merely a façade for this man. He had power, he could tell. A strange magic though, as though this man wasn't entirely human. And Harry could tell it was very old magic as well. How he could tell, he didn't know, he just knew. The magic of this man swirled in complicated stanzas, and it seemed to tell a story of time, ancient and unrelenting. Yes, Harry was certain- this man wasn't entirely human.
The man, too, was eyeing him curiously. He had strange coloured eyes; as though he had spent so much time working with wands so that they had turned the colour of wood. They were very penetrating too, and it unnerved Harry that this man, Ollivander he supposed, was sending him a look he so often used on others himself.
"Mr Potter, I presume?" the man asked, his voice like the creaking boards of the floor.
Harry nodded. "Mr Ollivander, I presume?" he replied, appearing cool and unfazed, although inwardly wondering how this man knew his name.
The man, too, nodded. "I must say, Mr Potter," as he moved round to behind the counter, "You are the first in a very long time to have been aware of my approach." He again made eye contact with Harry again, with a questioning look.
Harry chose not to reply, saying, "How did you know my name?"
"I have worked in this shop a very long time, Mr Potter. Wands are my business. Almost every child that has ever passed through Hogwarts has been carrying an Ollivander's wand. It is therefore also my business to know the names of all the children who shall visit my shop. Besides, you are the spitting image of your father. But those eyes, they are your mother's eyes…"
Harry looked up sharply at the mention of his parents. He said, trying not to sound concerned, "You knew my parents?"
Ollivander looked vaguely amused. "Did I not just say that almost every child that has gone to Hogwarts has been in this shop? Your father's wand was very good at transfiguration, as I recall, while your mother's favoured charms. What shall you favour I wonder?"
Without further ado he began measuring Harry, then, after asking which hand he favoured (right), he left the tape measure measuring itself, and began picking wands from the shelves, stacking them on the counter.
Soon Harry was standing waving wands, feeling quite ridiculous. Mostly, as soon as he had grasped a wand, Mr Ollivander would snatch it from his grasp. Strangely enough, the more wands he worked through, the happier the old man seemed to be.
Finally, after Harry had tried what felt like all the wands in the shop, Ollivander stopped and studied Harry then began reaching for the highest shelf.
"I wonder", he murmured, "I wonder". Harry couldn't help but sigh in irritation, but then, realising how loud it was, hoped the man was well distracted.
The man came back holding a wand box almost reverently. He carefully took the wand from the box and handed it to the boy, and then, rather hastily it seemed to Harry, stepped quite a bit back.
The wand was about average length, and a brownish colour, darker than some wands. It had a grip engraved with a phoenix and Harry couldn't help holding it reverently himself. To him it was beautiful. Simple, but beautiful. And the sound it made… It too was simple but it seemed to suit him. Well, almost. It felt like a shirt that was slightly to small, so that it didn't matter but you could always tell.
He gave it a wave and immediately he felt a huge amount of power flowing through his veins, like it had replaced his very blood, and it was now the power that was sustaining his life force. He breathed deeply, hearing music sift around him, like an orchestra was right there. He knew that it was his own magic. And it was powerful, very powerful.
In front of his eyes sparks of every colour were flying out of the tip of the wand. It was amazing. It stopped after a minute though and Harry was left standing, staring at the tip of the wand. His wand.
Mr Ollivander, too, was staring. "That is the wand for you Mr Potter. No doubt. That was the most marvellous display I have seen in all my years! It's strange, though. I feel I should tell you, that that wand holds a phoenix feather. The phoenix gave only two feathers. The other feather, I'm afraid to say, was put in the wand that gave you that scar."
Harry stared. Someone gave him his scar intentionally? And with a wand? And how did Mr Ollivander know about his scar? It was covered with his hair. He decided not to say anything, so as Ollivander wouldn't know the extent of his ignorance.
"It doesn't feel quite right, like it would be fine, but it could be better…"
"Oh yes?" said Ollivander, looking curious. "Yes, I could tell from the display, but I wondered if you could. I'm afraid, Mr Potter, that there is nothing in this shop that would help. Perhaps something will appear in time."
Harry nodded, just wanting to get out the shop. He quickly settled the account and walked out, feeling Ollivander's eyes on him.
The street was really bustling and Harry noted in shock it was already eleven o' clock. He only had one thing to get now. An animal. He had decided on an owl, considering that it would also be able to send a letter.
He entered a very interesting pet shop, too engrossed in the window display to register the name. Inside there were owls of all shapes, including tiny ones, huge eagle ones, brown ones, black ones… The list went on. There was a whole wall of caged cats, sleeping, watching and clawing. More exotic animals, like turtles, snakes and things Harry couldn't even identify were dotted around the shop. Rats were prancing in cages and a strange snail looking creature puffed smoke in his face.
Immediately a pure white snowy owl caught his eye. It had amber eyes, but when he went up to stroke it as soon as his hand made contact the eyes turned green, the same green as his eyes. Harry stared. He knew he would buy this owl. It was perfect.
After an awkward conservation with the owner, in which the befuddled woman said she swore the eyes had been a different colour. On the way out, Harry stopped at the snakes. There were some very colourful ones, which Harry was certain you wouldn't find in the real world. As he walked through the door he swore he could hear one say "That's the one. We'll hear more about him, mark my words."
That evening Harry sent a mail to Hogwarts saying he would go. As he watched the owl, which he had yet to name, fly over the smoky buildings and chimney pots, he pondered the events of the day. His wand, Mr Ollivander, the snake, Draco Malfoy, Gringotts, Lucius Malfoy, and most of all MAGIC! It existed! Harry knew that he was going somewhere, and that somewhere would be exciting, adventurous and wonderful. With that he cracked open a book and set to work.
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Little did Harry Potter know that back at Hogwarts the place was in pandemonium. Hagrid had been sent to collect the saviour of the wizarding world, the boy who lived, from his relatives' house, only to find he wasn't there. A meeting of the Headmaster, Hagrid himself, and all the heads of houses had been called.
"I'm afraid to say," said the great Albus Dumbledore, "That, as I've learned from Hagrid and Mr and Mrs Dursley, Harry Potter has spent the last ten years of his life in a muggle orphanage."
There was a stunned silence amongst the teachers. Just then, a white owl swooped in, depositing a letter and swooping back out.