Author's Note: An extra long chapter to celebrate the end of the semester. Freedom!
Their little group attracted a lot of attention from passersby during the mile and a half hike from Privet Drive to the train station in Langley. For Harry it was on account of the large, raven-shaped being perched on his shoulder and the even larger trunk he was wheeling along behind him. Hagrid, meanwhile, drew stares on account of just how big he was, not to mention the fact that he kept pointing out perfectly ordinary things like parking meters and letter boxes and saying loudly, "See that, Harry? Things these Muggles dream up, eh?"
"I don't think he gets out much," Fea muttered under her breath so that only Harry could hear.
"At least not around Muggles," Harry agreed, then in a slightly louder tone said, "Erm – Hagrid, thanks for … you know … not hexing my aunt or anything…."
Hagrid tugged at his beard, his eyes not meeting Harry's.
"I shouldn'ta lost me temper," he said sheepishly. "Not that I would o' actually jinxed her…. Strictly speakin', I'm – er – not supposed ter do magic…."
"Why not," Harry asked. He knew it was a bit of a rude question, but there were very few reasons why a grown wizard wasn't allowed to do magic and few of them were good.
"Well – yeh see, I was at Hogwarts meself, but I – er – well, I got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. Me wand was snapped an' everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. I owe him everythin' fer that."
Well, Harry thought, that certainly explains Hagrid's undying loyalty to Dumbledore. He wondered what Hagrid had done at thirteen that had had him deemed too irresponsible to be allowed to continue practicing magic, but he doubted Hagrid would tell him.
The stationhouse at Langley was a white building with shutters the same grey-green color of lichen. According to the schedule there would be a train to London in ten minutes – if it was on time. Hagrid, who was as unfamiliar with the purpose of a parking meter as he was with 'Muggle money' passed a stack of notes to Harry so that he could buy their tickets.
While they waited for their train to arrive Hagrid pulled an issue of the wizarding newspaper The Daily Prophet from within his coat and began to flick through it.
"Minister fer Magic's bunglin' things up as usual," Hagrid muttered, turning a page.
Pale grey met kaleidoscopic green as Fea and Harry exchanged a look. They had both heard plenty from Harry's grandad about the antics of the new Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge.
Once the train arrived it was a half hour ride into the city to Paddington Station, then another half an hour from there to Charing Cross. Hagrid spent the ride knitting something that looked like a canary-yellow circus tent, but that Harry assumed was actually a jumper for the large man.
"Got yer letter, Harry?" Hagrid had asked while they'd waited for their train to Charing Cross.
Harry had patted his jean pocket in confirmation and felt the crinkle of parchment against his thigh.
"Good, good," said Hagrid, running a finger along his knitting needle as he counted his stitches to make sure he hadn't dropped any. "Firs' stop fer us when we get ter Diagon Alley will be Gingotts. You'll need ter get some money from yer vault fer yer school things an' Dumbledore needs me ter do somethin' fer him while I'm there as well. Hogwarts business, yeh know."
Hagrid drew himself up proudly.
"Dumbledore gets me ter do a lot o' important stuff fer him," Hagrid went on. "Fetchin' you – getting' things from Gringotts – knows he can trust me, see."
Harry had only been to London a few times before. Once to the British Museum for a school trip and another for a bit of a working holiday with his grandfather to the Tower of London. Both had been interesting even if it had been a bit of a shock to have Anne Boleyn tell him off for starring when he'd caught sight of her beheaded specter. And yet, on none of these excursions had he ever had a chance to visit Diagon Alley.
Thankfully, Hagrid seemed to know where he was going even if he was unfamiliar with getting himself there by non-magical means. He got stuck when they went through the ticket barriers and complained loudly that the seats were too small (he'd need two) and the trains too slow.
"I jus' don't know how Muggles manage without magic," he told Harry as he helped him carry his trunk up a broken-down escalator to a busy road lined with shops.
Navigating the horde of people that were out and about was only possible due to Hagrid's large size. The man's bulk parted the crowd like Moses with the Red Sea, which allowed Harry to wheel his trunk along behind him with relative ease as they passed book shops, music stores, and hamburger bars.
"An' here we are," said Hagrid as he came to a stop, "the Leaky Cauldron. It's a famous place."
What it was, was a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Hagrid hadn't pointed it out, Harry wouldn't have noticed it was even there. The people on the pavement hurrying by didn't glance at it. Their eyes sliding from the big book shop on one side to the record shop on the other side as if the Leaky Cauldron wasn't there at all.
"It's a Notice-Me-Not melded with a subtle Muggle Repelling Charm that has been woven into the pub's very foundation," Fea whispered in his ear. "Quite an impressive bit of spell-work really."
Impressive warding or not, the Leaky Cauldron's interior was as dark and shabby looking as its exterior. There was a trio of old women were sitting off in one corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One with lurid blue hair, another with bejeweled spectacles, and a third who was smoking a long pipe. And there was a slight man in an eerily familiar looking violet top hat talking to the elderly bartender, who was quite bald and looked rather like a gummy walnut.
When they entered there was a lull in the low buzz of chatter as there always was when someone new came into a place with a limited clientele, but it returned quickly enough when everyone realized that it was just another familiar face.
Several people waved at Hagrid or they smiled in greeting. The old bartender even held up an empty glass and called out, "The usual, Hagrid?"
"Can't, Tom, I'm on Hogwarts business," Hagrid replied, clapping one of his enormous hands on Harry's shoulder with enough force it nearly drove Harry to his knees and earned him an angry hiss from Fea. "Oh, sorry 'bout that, Harry," he muttered apologetically.
"Merlin's beard," said the bartender, staring raptly at Harry, "is this – can this be –?"
The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent.
"Stars and stones," whispered the old bartender, "Harry Potter … what an honor."
He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Harry and seized his hand, tears in his eyes.
"Welcome back, Mr. Potter, welcome back."
"Erm – Thank you…," Harry managed awkwardly. He could feel all of the eyes in the room on him. It was an uncomfortable feeling to say the least.
He'd grown up knowing about his parents' death at the hand of the Dark Lord Voldemort, but he hadn't known until he was older about the 'fame' his family had accrued on account of it. He hadn't quite believed his grandad about how the wizarding world viewed him until that very moment, in fact.
But it was hard to ignore the great scraping of chairs and the fact that in an instant he found himself surrounded by the pub's patrons; each of them clamoring to shake his hand.
"Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last," said a fluttery middle-aged witch, seizing Harry's hand with both of hers.
"So proud, Mr. Potter," said another beaming witch. "I'm just so proud."
"Delighted, Mr. Potter, just can't tell you," exclaimed the wizard in the violet top hat. "Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle."
"I've seen you before," said Harry wrenching his hand away from Dedalus Diggle's grasping fingers. "You – you were watching me at the pizza parlor!"
"You remember me!" cried Dedalus Diggle, his top hat toppling off his head in his excitement. "He remembers me! Did you hear that?" he called, addressing the surrounding witches and wizards. His chest puffed up with pride. "He remembers me!"
But Harry wasn't about to let the matter go.
"Have you been following me," he demanded, green eyes flashing the same color as deadly spell-light. "Have you?"
There was an uncomfortable lull in the excited buzz within the Leaky Cauldron. The patrons all looking between Harry and Diggle with apprehension.
"W-Well, yes … but it was orders," Diggle spluttered, his hands wringing the brim of his retrieved hat anxiously. "Same as Hagrid's for bringing you here today – Right, Hagrid."
Hagrid was indeed nodding his great shaggy head.
"O' course, Harry," Hagrid informed him. "Diggle's one of the old crowd – same as yer parents were. Dumbledore likes for one of us to check up on yeh ever now an' again."
"Dumbledore has people spying on me," Harry growled furiously, easily sliding into a loose-limbed stance – for fight of flight he didn't yet know.
"Easy, Fledgling," Fea whispered into his ear. "We'll discuss this with Abhorsen when he returns, but for now wait and observe."
"It's not spyin'," Hagrid protested. "Dumbledore just want's ter make sure you were bein' properly looked after. That's all. Fer yer own good, you know … not all of You-Know-Who's followers were caught after all…."
"Yes – I suppose so," Harry was willing to concede at least that much. He knew there would be no arguing with Hagrid about anything else. The man's belief that Dumbledore could do no wrong was too deeply entrenched.
All too soon the Leaky Cauldron was abuzz with witches and wizards demanding Harry's attention once again – Doris Crockford kept coming back for more. She had just finished wringing his hand for a third time when a pale young man made his way forward. He was obviously anxious with an intermittent tremor in his hands and spasmodic smile pulling at his thin face.
As with many of the patrons of the Leaky Cauldron, Hagrid recognized the man at once.
"Why hello, Professor, I didn't see you," he said genially. "Harry, this is Professor Quirrell. He'll be your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts."
Professor Quirrell's smile was more of a weak grimace as he shook hands with Harry.
"Harry P-P-Potter," he stammered. "I c-can't t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you."
Harry nodded absently at the professor's words, his mind was on other things. Such as the unusually chilled feeling of the other wizard's aura. It was as though he'd been around something Dead recently and it had tainted him.
"You're the Defense teacher … have you encountered many Dark Creatures then?" he asked with interest.
"A f-fair few," murmured Professor Quirrell, looking as though he'd rather not think about it. "F-Fearfully f-f-fascinating subject… N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter?" He erupted in a nervous twitter of laughter. "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." He looked terrified at the very thought.
The others in the pub seemed to think that Professor Quirrell had monopolized enough of Harry's time and worked to reclaim his attention for themselves. It took almost a quarter of an hour to get away from the lot of them. Finally, however, Hagrid managed to make himself heard over the babble.
"Yes, well, we'd best get goin' now – lot's ter buy," he called to the room at large, then to Tom the barkeeper, he said, "You'll settle Harry's trunk in a room fer him, won't yeh?"
"Of course," Tom promised, whisking Harry's trunk out of sight.
"Right then," Hagrid went on. "Let's go, Harry – lots ter buy."
Doris Crockford shook Harry's hand one last time, and then Hagrid led them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there seemed to be nothing but a rubbish bin and a few weeds.
Hagrid was grinning at him.
"Did them folks a lotta good, seein' you – seein' you come back ter our world," he said. "Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin' ter meet yeh – mind you, he's usually tremblin'."
"Is he always that nervous?" Harry asked with interest.
"Yeah," said Hagrid absently. "Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. An' he was fine while he was studyin' outta books but then he took a year off ter get some firsthand experience…. Rumor has it that he met vampires or summat o' the like in the Black Forest … Then there was a nasty bit o' trouble with a hag – he's never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject – now, where's me umbrella?"
So, the professor had come across something Dead, Harry mused. And in the Black Forest too… Was there any chance that he'd stumbled across the Dead thing his grandad had been hunting….?
As Harry pondered this, Hagrid was counting bricks in the wall above the bin.
"Three up … two across …" he muttered. "Right, remember that, Harry."
He tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella and something astonishing happened. The brick he had touched quivered in its mortar, then it as well as those surrounding it began to move and wiggled as they rearranged themselves into an archway that was high enough that even Hagrid could pass through without stooping. And through the archway was a long, cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.
"Welcome," said Hagrid dramatically, "to Diagon Alley."
Aside from Abhorsen's Ait, Harry had never been in such an obviously magical place before in his life. It was with open awe that he followed Hagrid through the archway, which reformed itself instantly back into a solid wall the moment they were through.
"There's where we'll get yer cauldron," said Hagrid motioning towards a shop that had stacks of cauldrons glinting in the sun nearby. A sign above the door read: All Sizes – Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver – Self-Stirring – Collapsible. "But first we've gotta get your money from Gringotts."
Diagon Alley was amazing and Harry couldn't wait until he could go and explore, but for now he could only content himself with looking. His head felt like it was on a swivel as he attempted to take everything in at once: the shops, the things outside of them, and the people doing their shopping.
Outside Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary there was a plump, red-haired woman shaking her head as they passed, muttering, "Dragon liver, sixteen Sickles an ounce, they're mad…."
Then a little further down a low, soft hooting was coming from a dark shop with a sign that read, Eeylops Owl Emporium – Tawny, Screech, Barn, Great Grey, and Snowy…. And opposite it was a group of children around Harry's age with their noses pressed against the window of Quality Quidditch Supply gazing covetously at the sleek, shiny broomsticks on display.
"Look," Harry heard one of them say, "it's the new Nimbus Two Thousand – it's their fastest model yet!"
There were shops selling wizard's robes and shops selling telescopes and strange instruments that Harry had only ever read about in the library at Agesander Hall. Everything that was on Harry's list was there and more besides.
"An' here's Gringotts," Hagrid announced as they reached a snowy white building that towered over the little shops of the alley. "Ain't no safer place – 'cept maybe Hogwarts. The goblins use all sorts of spells and enchantments to do their job…. Then, some say there're dragons guardin' the high security vaults."
"Dragons? But aren't the vaults underground?" Harry asked, thinking that wilddeoren or some other ferocious cave dwelling beast would be more effective.
"Well, so they say," said Hagrid as they mounted the white marble steps of the bank. "Crikey, I'd like a dragon."
"You'd like one?" Harry asked aghast.
"Wanted one ever since I was a kid," Hagrid confirmed. "Ah, here we go."
They had reached a pair of burnished bronze doors that led into the bank. Standing beside them was a goblin wearing a scarlet and gold uniform. He was about a head shorter than Harry with a swarthy, clever face, and long, clawed fingers that looked, Harry noticed, as though they possessed an extra joint.
The goblin bowed as they walked inside. His shrewd eyes never leaving them as they passed.
Through the bronze doors were a second set which were made of silver. Engraved upon them was the following:
Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed,
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.
"Like I said, yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it," said Hagrid.
Another pair of gobbling bowed them through the silver doors and then they found themselves inside a vast marble hall. At least a hundred more goblins were there sitting on high stools behind a long counter. Some were scribbling in large ledgers, others were weighing coins in brass scales, and still more were examining precious stones through eyeglasses that wouldn't have been out of place in a jeweler's shop.
There were countless doors leading off from the hall and even more goblins were showing people in and out of these. Hagrid and Harry (with Fea in tow) headed for the counter first.
"Morning," said Hagrid to the goblin teller. "Mr. Harry Potter would like ter make a withdrawal."
The goblin peered at Harry down his very long and pointed nose.
"And does Mr. Harry Potter have his key?" asked the goblin.
"Yes, sir," said Harry promptly, fishing a small golden skeleton key from his pocket and handing it to the goblin. "It's for vault three hundred and fifty-nine."
The goblin examined the key closely.
"That's seemed to be in order," he said, returning it to Harry. "Will that be all?"
"Ah, no – there's one more thing – I've got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," Hagrid added, puffing up his chest importantly. "It's about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen."
The goblin accepted the letter that Hagrid pulled from within one of his coat's many, many pockets and it carefully.
"Very well," he said, handing it back to Hagrid, "I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!"
Griphook, it turned out, was yet another goblin. He led the trio towards on of the doors leading off the hall.
"What's the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen?" Harry asked.
"'Fraid I can't tell yeh that, Harry," said Hagrid mysteriously. "It's Hogwarts business an' Dumbledore's trusted me, see. Worth more'n my job ter tell yeh that."
"School business my tailfeathers," Fea murmured in Harry's ear, shifting her weight and causing the bell to chime. "Dumbledore's scheming – mark my words."
The goblin, Griphook, looked over at them sharply as the peal of the bell echoed eerily off of the corridor walls.
The door Griphook led them through opened on to a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. In the center of the passageway was a little set of railway tracks set into the floor, which sloped steeply downwards.
Griphook gave a sharp whistle that tingled with magical energy to Harry's senses and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks towards them. They all climbed in – Hagrid with some difficulty – and then were off.
At first, the cart just hurtled along through a maze of twisting passages. As they clattered along, Harry tried to remember, left, right, right again, left, middle fork, right, left, but it was impossible to keep track. The cart seemed to know its own way, because Griphook didn't appear to be steering.
Harry's eyes stung as the cold air of the subterranean passageway whipped past them, but he kept them open nevertheless. He felt laughter bubbling in his chest. This mad cart ride was like being on the wildest rollercoaster ever. The only thing that could top it was flying on his broomstick.
Once, out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a burst of flame at the end of a passage and twisted around to see if there were indeed dragon in the tunnels deep below the Underground, but he looked too late – the cart had plunged them even deeper and they were now passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor.
"You know, I can never remember the difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite," Harry called to Hagrid over the noise of the cart.
"Stalagmite's got an 'm' in it," said Hagrid, before quickly adding, "An' don' ask me question just now, I think I'm gonna be sick."
He did look very green beneath his beard, and when the cart stopped at last beside a small door in the passage wall, Hagrid got out and had to lean against the wall to stop his knees from trembling.
Griphook climbed out of the cart behind Hagrid, the tips of his tapered ears barely reaching the large man's kneecaps.
"Key please," he demanded, extending a claw tipped hand towards Harry.
Harry handed his vault key to Griphook, who unlocked the door and then returned the key to Harry, who returned it to his pocket once more. As the vault door opened a lot of green smoke came billowing out. As it cleared Harry saw the contents of his vault for the very first time. Inside were mounds of gold Galleons, columns of silver Sickles, and heaps of little bronze Knuts.
"Remember, the gold ones are Galleons and they're the most valuable, so you'll want plenty of them." Fea instructed Harry as he scooped a liberal amount of each denomination into a leather purse. "Then it's seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle. So, you'll want a bit of each to make change."
"How many Galleons to a pound?" Harry asked, turning to look at Griphook assuming the goblin would have a better idea of the exchange rate than either Fea or Hagrid.
"Five pounds to a Galleon," replied the goblin. "Twenty-nine pence to a Sickle and one penny equals a Knut."
Harry nodded, but didn't thank the goblin. He didn't know if goblins were distant enough kin to the Fae that they didn't consider the offering of thanks to automatically mean that they were owed a debt, but he wasn't about to take the chance.
"Well," said Hagrid tying of the money pouch and handing it to Harry for safekeeping, "that should be enough fer everything this time 'round." He turned to Griphook. "Vault seven hundred and thirteen now, please, and can we go more slowly?"
"One speed only," said Griphook, a wicked smile flitting across his swarthy face.
They were going even deeper now and gathering speed. The air became colder and colder as they hurtled round tight corners. They went rattling over an underground ravine, and Harry leaned over the side to try and see what was down at the dark bottom, but Hagrid groaned and pulled him back by the scruff of his neck.
Vault seven hundred and thirteen was different from Harry's. It had no keyhole.
"Stand back," said Griphook importantly. He stroked the door gently with the clawed tip of 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?" Harry asked.
"About once every ten years," said Griphook with a rather nasty grin. Proof that for all they now dressed themselves up in little suits with tailcoats and breeches instead of leather and armor nowadays – a goblin was still a goblin.
Thankful that there weren't any moldering skeletons of previously trapped thieves, Harry leaned forward eagerly to see if he could catch a glimpse of what was inside this top security vault. At first, he felt a surge of disappointment, because it appeared to be empty; then he noticed a grubby little package wrapped up in brown paper laying on the floor. Hagrid quickly picked it up and tucked it deep inside his coat.
"Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don't talk to me on the way back, it's best if I keep me mouth shut," said Hagrid.
Harry longed to know what was inside the little package, but knew he wouldn't receive an answer if he asked. And so, as the cart thundered its way back to the surface, Harry extended his senses to see if he could get a read of the little parcel's aura instead.
But without physical contact, he failed miserably.
Another wild cart ride later and the trio once again stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts.
"Where to next?" asked Harry, retrieving his rumpled supply list from his pocket and doing his best straighten it.
"Might as well get yer uniform," said Hagrid, nodding toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Listen, Harry," he went on tensely. "Would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a bit of a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts."
"Yeah, alright," Harry hedged, fidgeting with the silver ring on his finger.
Hagrid did look as though he still felt rather ill…. Not to mention it wasn't as though he would really be alone in the robe shop. Nevertheless, Harry felt a bit nervous as he entered Madam Malkin's shop.
Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed entirely in mauve from her boots to the tip of her pointed hat, which sat rakishly askew on her sleek grey hair.
"Hogwarts, dear?" she asked, as Harry entered the shop. "We've got the lot here – there's another young man being fitted up just now, in fact."
She led him to the back of the shop where there was indeed another boy being fitted for his long black robes by a second witch, who was also dressed all in mauve. The boy looked to be the same age as Harry, but where his hair was jet-black the other boy's was such a pale blond that it looked almost white.
"Your raven can perch on a chair in the corner while we take your measurements, alright," said Madam Malkin, pointing to a ladderback chair that had been set aside in what appeared to be an informal waiting area.
While Fea settled herself in for the wait, Madam Malkin had Harry to step up onto a stool next to the blond boy's, then she slipped a too long robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length.
"Hello," said the boy, "Will you be attending Hogwarts, too?"
"Yes," said Harry, with a small nod.
"My father's next door buying my books and Mother's up the street looking at potions ingredients," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling sort of voice that made him seem as though he had rather be anywhere else than here. "Once I'm finished here I think I'll drag them off to look a racing broom," he added, sounding a bit more animated. "I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully Father into getting me the new model everyone's talking about and then I'll smuggle it in somehow."
Fea gave a muffled croak, and Harry knew she was restraining herself from laughing. He couldn't blame her – the boy was like a skinny wizarding version of Dudley.
"Have you got your own broom?" the boy asked pointedly, and Harry was once again reminded of the Dursleys as his uncle often judged the importance of other people why how big and expensive their cars were.
"Yeah, I've got a Scarlet Falcon," said Harry. "What sort of broom do you fly?"
"A Comet Two Sixty," said the blond dismissively. "It's a decent starter broomstick, but it's not quite up to snuff if you want to play Quidditch – you do play, don't you?"
"Never had the chance," Harry admitted. He'd read about the most popular sport in the wizarding world, but growing up around Muggles meant he was more familiar with pickup matches of footie with the boys at school, than tossing a Quaffle around.
"I do," said the blond smugly. "Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house team, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"
"Not really," said Harry, who was beginning to feel as though he was being interrogated rather than fitted for a set of robes.
"Well, I suppose no one really knows until they get there," the other boy conceded. "But I know I'll be in Slytherin, all of my family has been – imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"
"Not if it meant I'd lose out on the chance to learn magic, I wouldn't," Harry retorted coolly. His grandad had been a Hufflepuff, after all.
The blond boy's pale eyes became almost thoughtful for a moment, but it didn't last.
"I say, look at that man!" he exclaimed suddenly, pointing towards the shop's front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Harry and pointing at two large ice-creams to show he couldn't come in.
"That's Hagrid," said Harry, giving a small wave at the large man to let him know that he'd seen him. "He works at Hogwarts."
"Oh," said the boy, "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"
"He's the gamekeeper," Harry said shortly. He was beginning to find the other boy's snobby attitude highly irritating.
"Yes, exactly," the blond burst. "I heard he's some sort of savage – who 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."
"I'm sure fire magic is difficult enough sober," Harry remarked sardonically. "I'd like to see anyone try it while plastered."
"You might be right there," the boy sniggered, obviously imagining the chaos of drunken spellcasting. "But why is he with you? Where are your parents?"
"They're dead," Harry informed him shortly. He didn't feel like discussing the matter with the boy. "Thankfully the school was kind enough to send someone to escort me, since the relatives I'm staying with aren't magical."
"You're not one of them, are you?" the blond sneered. "A Muggle-born."
"No," Harry said quite coolly. "Both of my parents were magical, not that it matters."
The boy looked at him with exasperation as though he were clearing not understanding some fundamental truth.
"Of course, it matters," he said. "They just aren't the same as people like us. They've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them don't even know they have magic until they get their letter for Hogwarts – can you imagine? My Father says they should only let the old families attend, you know – What is your surname, anyway?"
Thankfully, Harry was saved from further conversation with the boy when Madam Malkin said, "That's you done, my dear," and he was allowed to hop down from the stool.
"I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," said the boy.
Harry hummed noncommittally, held out his arm for Fea to alight on, then followed Madam Malkin over to the till.
"We ought to have everything ready by this afternoon, dear, if you'd like to pop back in then to pick up your uniform," she said, tallying up his purchases.
"I'm going to be staying at the Leaky Cauldron for a while, so would it be alright if I pick my things up tomorrow if I don't make it back before closing today?" Harry asked, counting out what felt like an obscene amount of money and handing it over.
"Of course, dear," said Madam Malkin cheerily, "Do come again anytime."
Harry didn't say much as he split the ice-cream Hagrid had bought him (chocolate and cherry with chopped walnuts) with Fea. The raven swallowing bits of walnut whole, while Harry chewed absently on a toothsome chunk of cherry.
"Somethin' wrong?" Hagrid asked.
"No…," Harry muttered, studiously focusing on his ice-cream and hoping that Hagrid wouldn't press.
Their next stop was a place called Scribblulus Writing Instruments where they bought parchment, ink, and goose feather quills. Harry's mood improving as he looked through the specialty section of the shop, taking in with keen interest the Never-Spill-Inkwells and Dicto-quills. He even splurged a bit and bought himself a bottle ink that changed colors as you wrote. It was as they were leaving, however, that Harry had managed to gather up his courage enough to ask, "Fea, is there something wrong with being muggle-born?"
"You're thinking about that boy in the robe shop, aren't you," she said, her pale eyes knowing.
"Yeah," he nodded, cheek brushing against her silky feathers. "And, you didn't answer my question," he prodded.
"Don't be impatient," she retorted, nipping him sharply on the tip of the ear. "It's not an easy question, you know."
While Harry rubbed his smarting ear, Fea pondered her answer. Finally, she said, "In and of itself there isn't anything wrong with being muggle-born…. And while that boy wasn't wrong that muggle-borns enter the wizarding world completely ignorant of its ways and customs. It can't hardly be considered their fault when the Statute of Secrecy – Wizarding Law itself – is what keeps them ignorant in the first place….
"Honestly," she went on. "If anything in what that boy was saying was wrong – it was his father's belief that muggle-borns shouldn't be taught. Nothing good comes from ignorance, Harry. Remember that."
The trio's next stop was Potage's Cauldron Shop where they purchased a handsome pewter cauldron, and then they went to Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment where they bought collapsible telescope and Basic Potioneer Kit, which included: a set of scales for weighing ingredients, measuring spoons, glass phials, cutting board, potioneer's knife, and a heavy stone mortar and pestle.
After leaving Wiseacre' they went to the largest book shop on the alley, Flourish and Blotts. The interior of which left Harry agog with its ceiling high shelves of books on all sorts of magic. And while, Harry wouldn't have considered himself to be particularly bookish the offerings of Flourish and Blotts were too enticing to ignore. He quickly acquired the nine course books and then disappeared back into the stacks for more. Hagrid almost had to drag him away from Curses and Counter-curses (Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying and Much, Much More) by Professor Vindictus Viridian.
"But it might come in handy," he protested as Hagrid returned the book to its spindle legged table.
"I'm not sayin' that it wouldn', but yeh'll need a lot more study before yeh get ter that level," Hagrid agreed, pointing him in the direction of Basic Hexes for the Busy and Vexed by Trixia Lancaster, instead.
Outside Flourish and Blotts, Hagrid checked Harry's list again while Harry stored his new books in his cauldron so that they would be easier to carry.
"It's jus' yer wand left," he said ticking off the items on the list with a long quill made from a feather that was so large Harry wondered if it had come from a roc. "An' I still haven got yeh a birthday present."
Harry felt his face begin to burn.
"You really don't have to," he protested, but Hagrid waved him off.
"I know I don't have to, I want to," he said, and began tugging at his beard ponderously. "I'd thought about gettin' yeh an animal, but yeh've already got a raven –"
"Actually, Fea's Grandad's if she's anyone's," said Harry. "He asked her to watch out for me while he's abroad."
Hagrid hummed at this, then began steering them towards Eeylops Owl Emporium.
"I'm glad ter hear yeh got family yer close ter, Harry – I worried 'bout yeh when the headmaster'd placed yeh with yer aunt an' uncle," Hagrid admitted. "Yeh'll need a way to keep in touch with them while yer at Hogwarts, so I'm goin' ter get yeh an owl. Dead useful they are. They'll carry yer post an' everythin'."
Thirty minutes later, they left Eeylops Owl Emporium with a beautiful snowy owl (her cage carried by Hagrid) and yet another book for Harry (You & Your Owl by Rufus Boobook).
"Thank you so, so much Hagrid," Harry found himself stammering time and time again.
"Don' mention it," Hagrid said gruffly before attempting to change the subject, "Now, what was left on that list of yours, again?"
"Um…," Harry hummed, retrieving his list from his pocket. "A wand."
"Ah," said Hagrid. "Best be headin' fer Ollivanders then – only place fer a proper wand, and yeh've gotta have the best wand."
His own wand … he'd been waiting for this at least as long as he'd known what magic was.
Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 A.D. was a narrow, shabby looking little shop with a single wand laying on a faded purple cushion in its dusty window.
A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a pair of spindly legged chairs; one of which, was occupied by a girl who looked to be a little younger then Harry. She had elbow-length, silvery blonde hair that hung in gentle waves about her pale heart-shaped face, very pale eyebrows, and protuberant eyes of a near colorless gray that gave her a permanently surprised look. She had been reading a magazine called The Quibbler, but looked up at them as they entered. She did not seem to need to blink as much as normal humans. She stared and stared at Harry and he secretly wished that she would blink.
Her eyes didn't waver from him even as Hagrid claimed the unoccupied chair beside her; but, they did flicker briefly in Fea's direction when the raven took wing to perch atop the snowy owl's cage.
"You're Harry Potter," she said her voice dreamy and melodious. It wasn't a question.
"I know I am," said Harry speaking just above a whisper. There was a distinct air in the shop like that of a very strict library; perhaps it was because of the tall, narrow rows of shelves with thousands of slender boxes piled neatly up to the ceiling. In any case, Harry could feel the back of his neck prickling as though the very air in the shop tingled with some secret magic.
"I'm Luna Lovegood," said the girl, blinking finally. "Don't worry my grandfather will be able to find the perfect wand for you…."
Harry's brow knitted as he wondered if he'd looked that worried, but before he could say anything a soft voice right behind him said," Good afternoon."
Harry jumped. Hagrid must have jumped, too, because there was a loud crunching noise and he got quickly off his spindly chair. In fact, the only ones who had not were Fea, the snowy owl (who was still asleep), and Luna Lovegood, who was now smiling brightly – her eyes focused on something – or rather someone – just over Harry's right shoulder.
Harry turned his head and saw that there was an old man now standing behind him. He had the same wide, pale eyes as Luna Lovegood.
"Hello," said Harry awkwardly.
"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I would be seeing you soon. Harry Potter." Again, it wasn't a question. "I see you have inherited your mother's eyes, but will you walk her path too…? It is a difficult path you and your kin must walk…."
"Does the walker choose the path, or the path the walker?" said Harry, not entirely sure where the words had come from, but they rang in the stillness of the shop with a sense of rightness.
Mr. Ollivander smiled enigmatically at his words and took a step closer to Harry. He seemed to need to blink as much as his granddaughter, which was to say half as much as a regular person. However, unlike Luna, his eyes seemed to shine with an eerie inner light that gave the impression he was looking right through you. It was very creepy.
"Yes, you are most assuredly of Amarantha's Get, Abhorsen-in-Waiting," Mr. Ollivander whispered, he was so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose and Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes. "I wonder what wand will choose you … because it is the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."
Mr. Ollivander's eyes skimmed Harry's hairline and came to rest on his lightning bolt scar.
"I am sorry to say that it was my family that sold the wand that did it," he said softly, raising a long, white finger and touching the mark with the care a priest might a holy relic. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. A powerful wan, very powerful, and in the wrong hands … well, we know which wand belong to who, but it is up to the wielder to choose what they do…."
He shook his head and then, to Harry's relief, looked away. His attention now on Hagrid.
"Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again," Mr. Ollivander crowed. "Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"
"It was, sir, yes," said Hagrid.
"Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?" said Mr. Ollivander, suddenly stern.
"Er – yes, they did, yes," said Hagrid, shuffling his feet. "I've still got the pieces, though," he added brightly.
"But you don't use them?" said Mr. Ollivander sharply.
"Oh, no, sir," said Hagrid quickly, but Harry noticed he'd placed one of his large hands rather protectively over the pocket that contained the man's pink umbrella.
"Hmmm," said Mr. Ollivander, giving Hagrid a piercing look. "Well, now – Mr. Potter. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"
"Your dominate arm," Luna clarified; she had set her magazine aside and was watching the proceedings with great interest.
"Erm – I write with my left-hand, but I use a sword primarily with my right, so I don't really know," he hedged.
Mr. Ollivander made a faint humming sound at this pronouncement.
"Interesting … well, hold out both your arms – like this," he said extending his arms so that he looked like a giant version of the letter T. "That's it."
He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then 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. I use a wide variety of materials, though the most common – if they can be considered such – are unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two magical creatures are quite the same. And of course, you will never get as good results with another wizard's wand as you do with one that has chosen you."
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. Blackthorn and dragon heartstring. Ten-and-three-quarter inches. Stable. Just take it and give it a wave."
Harry took the wand, but it felt like nothing more than a dead twig in his hands. Mr. Ollivander, obviously sensing that this was not a match snatched it out of his hand at once.
Rowan and unicorn hair. Nine inches. Steadfast. Try it, please –"
Harry tried – but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.
"No, no – here, beech and phoenix feather, twelve-and-a-third inches, whippy. 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 Hagrid had vacated, 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 and immediately he felt a difference. There was a sudden warmth flowing through his fingers like a gentle cress. He raised the pale wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of gold and silver sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Hagrid whooped and clapped, Fea crowed in delight, Luna applauded 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 velvet lined box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious … curious …"
"Sorry," said Harry, "but what's curious?"
Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare.
"I know every wand in this shop, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. Past, Present, and Future. 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."
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. He paid seven gold Galleons he paid for his wand and Mr. Ollivander bowed them from his shop. As they left, Harry noticed Luna Lovegood watching through the dusty shop window.
The sun hung low in a sky awash with reds and golds and violet hues as they made their way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall, and into the Leaky Cauldron, which was now bustling with what must be the dinner crowd.
"Got time fer a bite to eat before I need ter be headin' back to Hogwarts," Hagrid told him as they wove a circuitous route through the already occupied tables. Harry could hear whispers – like little hissing fires – spring up as he passed.
The dined on a delicious shepherd's pie. Hagrid with a tankard of dark ale and Harry with a goblet of spicy pumpkin juice. As they ate Harry kept looking around, taking in this strange new world that he had only been allowed to read about before.
"You all right, Harry? Yer very quiet," said Hagrid.
Harry wasn't sure he could explain. As much as he had come to like Hagrid over the day he wished his grandad was there. He would understand what Harry was feeling even though he couldn't quite find the words.
Nevertheless, Harry tried.
"They think I'm special," he said at last. "All of those people here this morning, Professor Quirrell, even Mr. Ollivander…. They expect great things, but there's just so much that I don't know…. What if I'm just a big disappointment."
Hagrid leaned across the table. Behind the wild beard and eyebrows, he wore a very kind smile.
"Don' you worry, Harry," he said gently. "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."
"Thanks Hagrid," said Harry loading the words with as much sincerity as he could muster and hoping his genuine gratitude came though. Judging by the giant's kind smile it did.
"Let's get yeh settled," said Hagrid heaving himself to his feet. He then went to speak with Tom the barkeeper who was also apparently Tom the innkeeper.
Harry hadn't even realized he'd dozed off in his seat until he felt Fea tap his cheek with her beak to let him know Hagrid had returned; a long day and a belly full of good food had caught up to him.
Standing beside Hagrid was Tom, who was beaming at Harry in exactly the same way he had been earlier that day. And so, after giving him a rib cracking hug, Hagrid strode from the Leaky Cauldron.
"If you'll follow me, Mr. Potter," said Tom, "Hagrid and I've already taken all of your things up to number three – It's where I put your trunk this morning."
The room Tom showed him to was very nice indeed. Inside there was a comfortable-looking bed, some highly polished oak furniture and a cheerfully crackling fire lit behind the grate. Harry's new snowy owl was sleeping peacefully in her cage atop the wardrobe and Fea immediately alighted to the footboard of the bed.
"If there's anything you need, Mr. Potter, don't hesitate to ask," said Tom, his voice full of such amazed fondness that Harry felt his face begin to heat in an uncomfortable blush.
"Thank you," he said, and Tom gave a small bow and left.
Such an amazing day, he'd had, Harry thought as he climbed into bed. And yet still there was so much more to explore….