Diagon Alley proved a surprise to Harry Potter.

After a strange encounter in the pub that served as the entryway, a bowl of pea soup that was about the consistency of mashed potatoes, and a fitful night spent sleeping in a surprisingly cozy room upstairs, Hagrid introduced him to the shops.

Harry had been expecting dark, slimy corridors surrounded with dripping stone and the stench of blood. Or something equally horrible. But Diagon Alley was bright, noisy, and full of life. Everywhere Harry looked he saw movement, bursts of color, and people of every size and shape imaginable. He could have sworn one man was half-shark! And the smells, well, they made Harry's stomach rumble—sweet, pungent, and smoky smells of foods he'd never seen before but still wanted to try. The only background smell was nutmeg, not blood. Harry was thoroughly shocked by how happy everyone seemed, jostling each other good-naturedly to get into crowded shops and shouting merry greetings at anyone they saw.

A quick trip to Gringotts, the Wizarding Bank, ensured that Harry would have adequate funds for the term; the boy's eyes went as wide as saucers when he saw the stacks of gold waiting in his vault. He immediately asked to tithe 10% of his fortune as was only proper, but Hagrid shook his head and explained that he was only authorized to remove money to benefit his education until he came of age. The goblins eyed them mistrustfully as they left, but Hagrid assured Harry that they looked at everyone like that.

The next stop was Eeylops, the Owl Emporium. Harry carefully asked if this was where the animals for sacrifices were kept, unsure of setting foot in the quietly hooting, dim room. He didn't want to look at any animals that would just be killed later. But Hagrid grew very serious, and got down to Harry's level (which involved a complicated folding procedure on his behalf). Then, he explained that animal sacrifice was not allowed at Hogwarts and that any magic that sacrificed innocent creatures was Dark and not to be trifled with. Harry was mildly relieved by this; all magic was evil, but at least some of it didn't involve murder.

Once inside, Harry was drawn instantly to a box of multicolored, floating kittens. However, when one rolled over lazily and belched sparkling flames, he skittered away. There were also the ubiquitous black cats and owls in every size and shade. "I've never had a pet before." He commented, while stroking a beautiful snowy owl on the head. With a hoot and an affectionate nip, the owl won over the boy's heart and he decided on her. Hagrid insisted on buying her for Harry's birthday present, even though Harry told Hagrid again that he did not deserve a birthday. The big man just rolled his eyes and refused to take Harry's money. "O' course yeh deserve a birthday, everyone does." Harry decided it was better not to argue, and tried to name the bird Chastity. Hagrid wouldn't have any of that, though, and threw out names until at last they agreed on one: Hedwig.

He insisted on carrying Hedwig himself, even though her cage was about half as tall as he was and he struggled with its bulk. Hagrid then brought him to the wandmaker's, Ollivander's, and explained that most magic was performed with wands.

"But what about the pentagrams and dribbly candles and skulls?" Harry had asked, convinced that these things were essential for witchcraft even if the animal sacrifices weren't. But Hagrid had just shaken his head with a sad smile and shooed the boy inside.

Harry had looked back over his shoulder in mild panic at the loss of his guide, but Hagrid said, "Yeh'll be jus' fine. I'll be righ' back." He then turned and disappeared into the crowd, probably needing to run an errand while Harry... did whatever he was supposed to do in this shop. Buy a wand, presumably. Dig himself further into this madness. Harry chewed on his bottom lip and glanced around, not seeing anything but stacks and stacks of boxes, like in a shoe store. Only these boxes were long and thin and presumably did not contain shoes.

"Harry Potter."

Harry leapt about a foot in the air, and spun around to see that an old man had seemingly melted out of the shadows. The old man chuckled and came closer, staring almost reverently at Harry. He shifted uncomfortably, having never liked close attention.

"H-how do you know my name?" He asked quietly, thinking back to the Leaky Cauldron and that strange giggling man who had also seemed both astonished and delighted to meet him, for some reason. Hagrid had shrugged it off and promised to explain after Harry slept, but Harry had forgotten to ask once he'd woken up.

Ollivander, for that was presumably this man, chuckled again and spoke in a voice like crumpled paper, "Oh, I imagine there isn't a witch or wizard alive right now who is unaware of your name, Mr. Potter."

Harry blinked.

"But enough chatter! You are here to seek your wand; it has been ten years and now you are here. I have waited a very long time for this moment, Mr. Potter, for you see, I remember every wand I've ever sold... and your parents made quite the interesting match."

Harry's throat tightened. "You knew my parents?"

Ollivander waved one hand vaguely around his dusty shop. "Only in passing, my young lad. Your mother took home a ten-and-one-quarter-inch willow with quite a spritely swish; perfect for Charms work. Your father was a more stubborn fellow and walked off with an eleven-inch mahogany, better for Transfiguration."

Harry looked down at his ratty sneakers, only given to him long after Dudley had outgrown them. "Both my parents... went to Hogwarts." He said quietly.

"Indeed yes, and both acted with great heroism before their deaths."

"I never got to know them." Said Harry mostly to himself. In fact, he didn't even know how they died. Whenever he broached the subject at home—well, he was told that his parents had been punished for being sinners with their deaths, and that they had deserved their fate, and that Harry better watch his step to avoid going the same way. But now Ollivander was saying they were heroes. And this place, it seemed... nice. Harry hadn't seen any entrails yet, or chains, or demons.

He was so very confused.

Ollivander looked the poor child up and down, and then said gravely, "I'm sorry for your loss." After the contemplative silence had stretched long enough, the old man clapped his hands together and Harry broke out of his thoughts. "To work, to work! Mr. Potter must have a wand." He dove with all apparent glee into a pile of wand-boxes, sending up a great cloud of dust in the process.

"Mahogany! It must be mahogany. The wizard takes after the father in most cases." His voice was muffled at first, but he finally emerged with a great clatter of boxes, one held aloft triumphantly. He shuffled open the box and Harry looked inside at this thing of ultimate evil, this stick that would send him to Hell (do-not-pass-GO, do not collect $200), this tool of the damned.

He was a bit disappointed, for he'd been expecting spikes or ominous glowing or a deep voice to speak and beseech him to surrender his mortal soul in exchange for magical power. But nothing happened. It was just a polished stick.

Ollivander's eyebrows rose at Harry's reluctance. "Well, go on. Give it a wave!"

Harry jumped. "Um, d-don't I have to... say words or..."

"No, no, no. This is just to see if you are compatible. Trust me, we will both know when you find your wand." Aha, Harry thought, so that is when I will hear a voice demanding my soul. Got it. And picked up the wand.

It was still just a stick. Harry halfheartedly waved it—and a stack of boxes across the room exploded! He jumped out of his skin, dropped the wand, and immediately began apologizing and trying to pick up the pieces of smoking wand boxes. But Ollivander just coughed through the acrid smoke, muttered an incantation, and the boxes reassembled themselves with no fuss whatsoever. "Hm, perhaps not mahogany after all. Oh, don't look like that! It takes a few tries for everyone, not to worry, not to worry." Ollivander went right back to his stacks of boxes and ran his fingers carefully over each label, scanning the boxes quickly. "Perhaps a yew wood, despite appearances...? Or try a willow, for the mother. Yes, a willow will do." This time when he offered the box, though, Harry just looked at it.

"I... I don't want a wand." He said quietly, feeling rather sick. He'd made the boxes blow up! That couldn't be a good sign. "I'm sorry for all the trouble." He turned to go, but Ollivander called him back.

"Young man," he began with some severity, "You are a wizard, and as such, you must have a wand. I have seen over a million explosions in my very long life, and I'm sorry to say yours are nothing spectacular. Don't be discouraged."

"All right." Harry said, even quieter than before. After that, he took each wand as offered and waved them almost on autopilot. After they found a wood (holly) that didn't cause things to explode, only smoke, Ollivander set about finding the proper core. After the third failed holly wand, he grew thoughtful and began muttering to himself, poking around in the back of the store and in ever-dustier piles.

"I have it here somewhere, where—oh, here." And from the back of the darkest shelf, Ollivander pulled a box that was more dust than cardboard. "Indulge my professional curiosity, Mr. Potter, one last time, and try... this." He shuffled the box forward and revealed a long, light-colored wand with a gently curved handle. Harry sighed but picked it up, fully expecting that he could try every wand in this shop and still not find one. But this one was warm! He dropped it.

Ollivander picked it up and placed it back in his hand, smiling an odd little smile. Harry stiffly waved the wand and was absolutely astonished when it released rainbow sparks that danced in the sunlight coming through the window, seeming to twirl around and through the dust motes that filled the air of the shop. Harry couldn't describe it, but he felt as if a part of him had just come home. The feeling was sort of like discovering he'd had a tail all along, and could only now wag it.

Harry listened tensely for a deep voice, but heard nothing. He wasn't sure of anything any more. But Ollivander took back the wand with some reverence (was it Harry's imagination or did the wand resist being pulled from his grasp, as if it wanted to stay in his hand?) and looked it up and down. "Curious, Mr. Potter, very curious." He said with an odd gleam in his eye.

"Um...?" Harry asked, unsure how to phrase the question. Ollivander laughed and handed him back his wand.

"Your wand is your partner, and a reflection of your inner self. I say that this choice of its is curious because... well, wand cores are a tricky business. Phoenix feather most of all, as the fine beasts are unwilling to give more than a few choice feathers to us. The phoenix whose feather was used to create this wand... he only gave two feathers, you see. Only... two..." Ollivander seemed to drift off into thought, but then started awake as if he'd heard a loud noise. "But I ramble! I shall ring up your purchase immediately."

"Sir?" Harry asked quietly, following Ollivander to the ancient-looking register. "Why is that curious?"

"The other wand that contains the feather of the phoenix which gave yours has—had—a wizard of incredible power as its owner. One who is responsible for the deaths of your parents, and that scar that marks your fame. Oh, that wizard did such terrible things, and yet had such ability..." Ollivander pressed a few keys seemingly at random and then told Harry the total, and Harry fished several large golden coins out of his pockets. Hagrid had left him with more than enough for his purchase, so he trusted Ollivander to give him correct change. This money system made no sense to him at all, but then again, neither did British standard currency (decimals were not his forte and were probably the work of the Devil). So he wasn't complaining. His head was still spinning from the idea that his scar had not been caused by an accident.

When he left the shop, Hagrid called him over and handed him a gigantic ice-cream cone. Harry's eyes popped open at the sheer size of the treat; it looked like a knickerbocker glory piled into a traffic cone. He took it and said thank you to Hagrid, even though he was certain he couldn't finish this. He tried his best to as they continued their trek through Diagon Alley, amazed that it wasn't seeming to melt as he ate.

Only when he got to the third or fourth scoop did it occur to him that the offering might have been poisoned. He was going native. But if it was poison, it was nonetheless delicious, and he was an underfed child who skipped meals more often than having them. He figured if he died after eating this, he would probably die happy and sugar-high.

To his intense surprise, he was able to finish it. His stomach strained afterwards, but a pleasant buzz had crept up the back of his neck and canceled out any feelings of nausea. He thanked Hagrid again as they were getting his schoolbooks, an intimidating pile of volumes that the clerk added to a 'charmed carryall bag' which shrunk them down to the size of key chains. Then there were Potions ingredients to buy and a cauldron to select, as well as a large trunk to store everything in.

Everywhere Harry went, people stared and nudged each other. Hagrid did his best to take up everyone's attention with his huge frame, but more than once Harry caught murmurings of "Harry Potter" and "Boy-Who-Lived..." He tried to ignore it, but every whisper solidified his determination to ask Hagrid for the story back at the pub.

And finally they arrived at their last stop. "Yer robes, Harry. They'll be kinda gray 'til yeh get ter Hogwarts and get inter yer House, but once they change they're very nice."

"The robes are... charmed?" Harry asked hesitantly, unsure that he wanted to wear magical clothing. What if it decided to turn invisible?

"Jus' a wee color charm, wears off almos' instantly." Hagrid shifted uncomfortably. "Sorry, Harry, but I hafta go pick somethin' up from Gringotts. Forgot ter while we were there and Dumbledore... well. You'll do jus' fine. Tell Madame yeh need four standard sets of school robes, firs' year, with all the trimmins. One set each of casual and dress robes too. I'll meet yeh back here in abou' an hour."

"Okay." Harry said quietly, watching him go. He brought Hedwig's cage into the shop and placed her carefully on the floor.

"Quite an owl you have there." Drawled a voice from a bench behind Harry. He, surprising himself, did not flinch, just turned to look at the speaker. This was the first person his own age he'd seen up close since arriving here. The stranger had pale skin and blond hair that was almost white, and he was dressed in deep green robes. He slouched indolently in his seat; the picture of the bored princeling.

"Her name is Hedwig." He offered quietly, unsure how to proceed. Clearly this boy had been raised by wizards. Maybe he could answer some questions, if Harry was careful. However, the boy beat him to the question-asking.

"Are you Muggle-born?"

Harry tilted his head to one side. "Sorry?"

"That's a yes then." Draco chuckled softly. "Good thing you're here; the clothes are a dead giveaway."

"I... don't..." Harry swallowed. "Look, my name's Harry, Harry Potter. What's yours?"

He'd forgotten about his fame, but was quickly reminded when the boy shot straight up from his seat in pure shock. "You're Harry Potter?" He asked, skeptically. "Where have you been, a prison? What's with the clothes?"

Harry pulled uncomfortably at his oversized, holey jumper, suddenly more self-conscious than he'd ever been. "They were my cousin's. They—" but the boy cut him off with one imperious hand, stepping closer so that he could better see the lightning-bolt shaped scar on Harry's forehead. He had always tried to hide it under his bangs, even though it cut through one of his eyebrows and its dark red lines sharply contrasted with his green eyes. Without asking, the boy reached for his bangs and pulled them out of the way, staring at the scar the way a dying man might stare at a mirage in the desert.

"It doesn't matter. You're Harry Potter." Was it Harry's imagination or did his mouth twist with distaste before he smiled? "I'm Malfoy, of course. Draco Malfoy." He looked around the still-empty shop. Presumably Madame Malkin was somewhere in the back, working on his order. Then he lowered his voice and raised his eyebrows. "So... were you really raised by Muggles?"

"I... I don't know what a Muggle is. Sorry."

"Don't apologize. It means people who don't have magic."

"Oh, then, yes I was."

"What was that crackpot thinking?" Draco mumbled under his breath. "Do you know anything about Hogwarts?"

"It's a school for wizards." Harry started, sounding doubtful even to his own ears. Draco rolled his eyes and flopped back into his seat. Trying to be surreptitious about it, Harry smoothed his hair back over his forehead. Draco snorted at the move, but thankfully did not comment.

"It's the school for wizards. Of course they let all sorts of riff-raff in, but it still offers the best education. That's why my mother insisted even when Father wanted to send me to Durmstrang. Of course I'll be in Slytherin, I think I'd leave if I were anything else, wouldn't you?" Harry just stared at him sort of hopelessly. "Oh right, you wouldn't know. Hogwarts has four houses, but Slytherin is the best."

That sounded odd. Harry was on the verge of asking how one decided on one's house and what the other three were when two women came through the door at the far side of the shop. "Terribly sorry to keep you waiting, dear." The one who was probably the shop owner said to Harry. "Be with you in just a mo'." The other woman looked far too glamorous to be employed in this rather utilitarian place, and had the same color hair as Draco, so Harry assumed this was his mother. His confirmation came when the tall blonde woman held out a hand to Draco and said, "Come along, darling, we have more stops to make."

"It was nice to meet you." Harry said as Draco stood up. Draco just nodded, but his mother looked Harry up and down and seemed a bit disturbed. Were his clothes that nasty? He supposed so. They were clean but very faded and overlarge.

"See you at Hogwarts." He said before following his mother out of the shop. Harry heard her asking something about who he was, but the door closed before he could hear Draco's response. Then Madame Malkin finished whatever she'd been doing at the register and asked him for his order.

About an hour later, Harry was the proud owner of new garments. They were all black and gray, but the Madame assured him that as soon as he was Sorted they would change to reflect his House. Harry wondered how robes could possibly know what House he was in, but decided not to think about it too much. He thanked her and left the shop, looking around for Hagrid.

He still had some questions.