A/N: So this is a pretty long chapter, and I'm trying to stick with the storyline as much as possible, so some dialogue is taken from the books, some is switched up, and some is my own invention. This'll be the case pretty much from here on out, so I'm not going to post this disclaimer every time, but I will continue to post the source at the end.
Anyway, that's all, hope you enjoy! Welcome to Diagon Alley!
Harry's birthdays had never been terribly exciting – not that he minded much, they were perfectly pleasant as they were, his father and uncles baking him a cake that was always somehow a bit of a mess and performing all sorts of tricks with magic, stringing up lights and decorations, letting Harry do anything he wanted for the day and getting (or making) him as many presents as they could come up with – but this year proves to be a different story. This year, Harry is turning eleven years old, a big year for a wizard as it means he is finally allowed to attend proper school. Which means that this year, for his birthday, James, Sirius and Lupin are taking Harry to Diagon Alley for the first time ever, and he can't wait.
They use the Floo network to travel to the Leaky Cauldron (which has a special, dingy little foyer for precisely that purpose) and wave hello to Tom as they pass through, and Harry notices several heads turn his way, inquisitive stares plastered on every face.
"Dad, why is everyone staring?" Harry asks, feeling quite confused, but he didn't even get a chance to answer before a small woman with side swept hair approached and shook his hand vigorously.
"Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last," she said enthusiastically before another woman pushed her way in, wringing his hand.
"So proud, Mr. Potter, I'm just so proud."
"Always wanted to shake your hand – I'm all of a flutter," another woman said, she kept fanning herself with one hand as though she might collapse at any moment.
"Delighted, Mr Potter, just can't tell you," a squeaky little wizard ventured, his top hat toppling right off his head in excitement, "Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle."
A tall, pale looking wizard made his way toward them, looking almost as nervous as Harry felt, and Remus offered him a warm smile.
"Ah, Quirrell! Nice to see you again. I hear you're a professor this year!" he said, trying his best to look encouraging, and Quirrell nodded in response before turning his attention back to the young boy.
"P-P-Potter," he stuttered, shaking Harry's hand (somewhat less exuberantly than the others), "c-can't t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you."
"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?" Harry asked kindly, smiling with interest.
"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," Professor Quirrell muttered, as though he wished to change the topic. "N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter?" He gave a weak laugh and Harry and James both grinned tentatively. Sirius, on the other hand, beamed with pride at his godson. "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 gave a little shudder at the thought, as though he would rather be doing anything else.
Others approached and Harry did his best to try to remember all their names, smiling and listening to all their tales and thanking them for their compliments. It was all very uncomfortable for him, not feeling like he had done anything to merit this kind of attention, he was, after all, just Harry.
"Where's Hagrid?" Sirius muttered through gritted teeth, wanting very much to be out of this establishment as soon as possible. Dumbledore had insisted on having a little extra security, though James had protested that surely three adult men were enough to keep an eleven year old boy safe, but in the end they all agreed that it was better to be overcautious.
Just then a man – only he could not really be described as a man, as he was twice as tall, with a broad belly, shaggy hair, a grisly beard, and hands the size of dustbin lids – entered the tavern, grinning broadly and the three men and Harry.
"'ello there!" He greeted warmly, and his voice was like a deep rumble of thunder, crackly and oddly soothing. "'ow're yeh doin' then?"
"Lovely, Hagrid, shall we –" James starts, but the large man pays him little mind.
"An' you mus' be Harry," he says, turning his attention to the boy, who looked very surprised, and taking in his appearance. "Yeh've grown a bit since I las' saw yeh. Course yeh were on'y a baby then. Yeh look just like yer father though, 'cept the eyes, always 'ad yer mother's eyes."
"Hi," Harry manages to squeak out in response, feeling very apprehensive about the new member of their little party.
"Right, shall we leave then?" Sirius interrupts, looking around edgily. "I'd like to get out of this bloody place before we get accosted by another group of people."
"You bin havin' trouble?" Hagrid replies gruffly, though he starts moving towards the back door immediately, leading the others.
"Not really," Remus interjects, "just a few people keen to meet the Boy Who Lived."
"The what?" Harry asks, feeling confused, but Remus shakes his head, not intending to respond just then.
"It's what some folks like to call yeh," Hagrid answers when no one else does, "fer survivin' You-Know-Who's attack."
Harry squirms, feeling doubly uncomfortable now, but they've reached the back alley, and Hagrid is tapping the brick wall in an odd pattern with a strange, flowery pink umbrella. They stand back, James pulling Harry with him, and the brick shifts, revealing a large archway in the wall. Harry gasps, his eyes wide with excitement and awe, and he leans forward to peer into what he immediately thought was the most amazing place he had ever seen.
Lining both sides of a cobblestone street were the most wonderful shops Harry could imagine – Flourish and Blotts, Gambol and Japes, Madam Malkins, Slug & Jiggers – and Harry beamed as he took it all in.
"Got yer letter?" Hagrid inquired, as if Harry could possibly forget the item that had him bouncing all over the house when it had come in the mail – emerald green writing on parchment, with the Hogwarts crest on the back.
"Yeah!" the boy exclaimed, forgetting his apprehension in lieu of enthusiasm.
"Righ' then, what's it say?" Harry pulled out the envelope, extracting both pages and proudly handing the first to Hagrid, which read:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
After giving Hagrid a moment to smile appreciatively at the letter, Harry looked at the second sheet of parchment and began reading aloud:
First-year students will require:
1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
4. One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)
Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags.
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 Adalbert Waffling
A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric 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
1 wand
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
1 set glass or crystal phials
1 telescope
1 set brass scales
Students may also bring, if they desire, and owl OR a cat OR a toad.
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST-YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK.
"Right then, where should we head off to first?" Lupin asks Harry, and the boy pauses, overwhelmed by his choices.
"I think we'll need to make a pit stop at Gringotts before we go anywhere," James answered, pointing toward a large white marble building.
"Works fer me," Hagrid adds, nodding toward the same building, "Got a bit of official Hogwarts business ter take care of."
They set off down the street toward the bank, occasionally grabbing Harry's hand an pulling him on as he pauses to take in a shop window display. As they approached clearly, Harry could see the ornate bronze doors, next to which stood –
"Goblins," Sirius said, ducking his head down to whisper in Harry's ear, "nasty little creatures, very greedy."
Harry looked at the two creatures – they were short, much shorter than Harry, with a cunning little look on his face and eerily long fingers and feet. Once inside the bronze doors, they faced a second set, this time silver, with words etched into the surface:
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 see beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.
"What does it mean?" Harry asks, looking up his father concerned.
"It means yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it," Hagrid answers gruffly while James offers a reassuring smile and leads Harry through the doors. They approach one of the goblins at a long counter with scales at intervals, and James pulls a key out of his pocket, placing it on the counter.
"I'd like to access my fault," he says, and the goblin eyes him shrewdly, picking up the key and examining it carefully.
"That seems to be in order," the goblin replies, his voice sounding like gravel.
"An' I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," Hagrid interjects, pulling a sealed envelope from one of the pockets (there seemed to be hundreds) and depositing it on the counter. "It's about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen." Sirius and Remus exchange quick glances with furrowed brows, but, no one says anything, letting the unspoken question hang in the air.
"Very well, I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!" He motions with spindly fingers towards yet another goblin, whom they follow toward one of the doors leading into a series of tunnels. The six of them climb into a cart squishing together to fit, and once they are all inside, it takes of through a maze, twisting and turning seemingly of its own volition. They almost fall out of the cart in their haste to exit the cart once it stops, the goblin taking James' key and inserting it into a very small hole in the rough stone wall Harry had not noticed earlier. There is a clicking sound of gears unlocking and then the door swings open, and Harry is astonished by the blinding gold light emanating from inside. He had known that they were well off, but this – piles of gold stacked high in two thirds of the cave-like room, a mixture of smaller silver and bronze coins in the remaining third – was much more they he thought. James reached in and scooped a handful of gold into one bag, then a handful of gold and silver into another, handing it to Harry.
"Don't spend it all at once, alright?" he instructs, and Harry nods in understanding. Griphook seals the vault again, giving the key back to James, and they squeeze into the cart again, setting off further into the bowels of the bank. They stop again in front of another indistinguishable expanse of rock, and this time Griphook runs a finger down a length of wall, and it simply vanishes, melting into nothing. Harry is able to catch a glimpse of a small, tattered looking parcel before Hagrid snatches it up in one large hand and stuffs it into one of his coat pockets. Once more they pile into the cart and set off, all feeling a bit queasy by the time the make it back to fresh air.
Madam Malkin's is situated right near Gringotts, so they decide that robes might as well be the next stop. Inside, Harry meets a very unpleasant looking boy with a pointed face and pale, silver blonde hair. He seems beyond spoiled and Harry is reminded of a bully at his old school who had always been determined to get anything he wanted, and Harry dislikes the boy very strongly. Afterward, they grab ice cream from Florean Fortescue to attempt to ease the sickness still lingering in their stomachs from the Gringotts carts, and then venture out to get the rest of Harry's supplies. The last stop is Ollivanders, the only place to get a decent wand. The inside of the store is small and dusty, cluttered with long, thin boxes strewn about upon every possible flat surface. Hagrid excuses himself, saying there is one more stop he wants to make while they're occupied, since he would be unlikely to fit inside the shop without knocking even more boxes about. Harry waits quietly for a moment, looking around the place, feeling oddly nervous, as though he were about to sit an exam for which he was very poorly prepared.
"Good afternoon," a quiet voice whispers from the shadows, startling Harry so much that he visibly jumps.
"Hello," Harry replies, feeling very awkward.
"Ah yes," the wizard says, stepping into the light, and Harry can see that he is very old, with pale eyes, wide and shining like moonlight in the gloom. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon, Harry Potter. You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work." Harry gave a nervous glance toward his father, and Ollivander followed his gaze. "Your father," he adds, nodding toward James, "on the other hand, favours a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favours it – it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."
The old man had moved closer as he talked, so they were now standing only inches apart, Harry feeling very uncomfortable and wishing he could be anywhere else. Ollivander reaches out and touches the lightning bolt shaped scar on Harry's forehead, and out of the corner of his eye, Harry can see Sirius tense, ready to spring to action, but Remus places a tentative hand on his shoulder, telling him to wait.
"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," Ollivander continues, either not noticing or not caring about the tension now emanating from the corner where James, Sirius and Remus stood. "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 into the world to do…"
He shakes his head sharply, as though calling himself back to reality and the task at hand. Ollivander begins carefully measuring, seemingly anything he can think of, all the while chattering to them about wand cores and wand lore. The first wand Harry tries (Nine inch beechwood and dragon heartstring) is wrong, Ollivander snatching it back when Harry attempts to wave it and nothing happens. The next (maple and phoenix feather, seven inches) is snatched from his hand even faster, and the third (unicorn hair and ebony, eight and a half inches), is also a dud. He tries wand after wand and tries not to pay attention to his father's tired looks and Sirius' slumped posture, sinking further down with each passing minute.
"I wonder, now," Ollivander stops suddenly, looking back down the shelves behind him. "Yes, why not – unusual combination – holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."
Harry takes the wand, and immediately feels a warmth spreading through his fingers, so he waves it through the air and a shower of red and gold sparks burst forth, eliciting claps from James, Sirius and Remus.
"Well, well, well… how curious… how very curious…" Ollivander muses, apparently lost in thought.
"Sorry," Harry interrupts, confused, "but what's curious?"
"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 its brother – why, its brother gave you that scar." Harry feels a shiver run down his spine as a chill sweeps over him. "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." Another chill passed over Harry and he took a step backward inadvertently, James coming forward to offer up seven galleons as Harry hastily exited the shop.
Outside, Harry found Hagrid sitting on a bench that was absurdly small for him, and he looks up beaming when he sees Harry, holding out a cage filled with a snowy white owl.
"Happy birthday, Harry!" he says proudly, grinning so widely that his beetle black eyes crinkle at the corners.
"Hagrid! Thank you!" Harry cries, smiling until he thinks his cheeks will split and reaching over to give him a gigantic hug.
"Yeh'll have to give 'er a name," Hagrid says, patting Harry on the back (a little harder than he means to, undoubtedly).
"Hedwig," Harry answers quickly, and Hagrid nods his approval, "I saw it when I was flipping through A History of Magic."
At the end of the day, after a quick drink with Hagrid at the Leaky Cauldron, James, Harry, Sirius and Remus use the Floo network to return to their house in France. Harry spends the rest of the evening sorting through all his new belongings (he got quite a few things that were not on the list of necessities), and starting to pack, although Sirius tells him several times that he's going to unpack and pack again ten times before he leaves.
Some material borrowed from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, pg 43, 52-66