– CHAPTER FIVE –

Finding Harmony

Harry woke up the following morning half-expecting to be back in her closet under the stairs, but was very much relieved to still be at The Leaky Cauldron. There was a horrible cold draught seeping through the ancient floorboards, and overnight Hagrid's musky coat had seeped into the already damp air of the room. Still, it was better than the Dursleys.

Hagrid was fast asleep and snoring quite loudly when she awoke, whilst Barnaby the owl was incessantly pecking at the window. Harry let the creature inside, who was holding a letter for Hagrid in his beak. It was from Hogwarts. She placed it on Hagrid's bedside table, before heading to the bathroom.

After taking a shower, Harry caught a look at herself in the bathroom mirror. She usually hated looking at herself, though less because of any kind of dysphoria and more the excessive number of bruises and scars all over her body from Uncle Vernon's abuse. Still, despite not having visibly changed appearance at all since the night before, simply coming out with her truth had changed Harry's demeanour slightly. For the first time in a while, she felt some sense of hope for the future.

As Harry exited the bathroom, she found Hagrid was now sat up in bed and inspecting the letter. His face went through a variety of expressions as he read it, from relief to exasperation to beleaguered acceptance.

'Is it from Dumbledore?' Harry asked.

'Sure is, and he's not entirely happy with how things went last night,' he replied. 'Good news is, though, he agrees leaving you with the Dursleys is no longer safe; like it ever even was, if you ask me. We're going to try our best to find you somewhere proper to stay before you head off to Hogwarts, but for now, Dumbledore's asked we stay put.'

'Stay put? Like, not leave the inn?'

'Nah, nothing that strict. In fact, he suggests now might be a good time to get you sorted with your school supplies. Your acceptance letter should tell you everything you'll be needing.'

Harry dug through her bag and found one of the several copies of the letter she had received. Having only briefly skimmed the inventory list before, it was a lot shorter than she remembered, but just as filled with peculiar items with even more peculiar names:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Uniform

First year students will require:

Three sets of plain work robes (black)

One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings

Please notes that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags

Set Books

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 Beginners' 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 of glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set of brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

'Can we really buy all of this in London?' asked Harry.

'We're already in the right place,' said Hagrid. 'Might as well hop to it.'

Hagrid started to pick himself up, but Harry wasn't quite ready to go yet. 'Wait!' she urged. 'I…I wanted to ask what you said last night, about…about knowing how I feel. What do you mean by that?'

'Oh, o' course,' said Hagrid, settling himself back down. 'I don't know how much you know. I 'spect yer aunt and uncle kept you in the dark, knowing what them lot are like, but do you know what "transgender" means?'

Harry shook her head. She had never directly asked the Dursleys about how she felt in regards to her gender, but their natural behaviour had already told her what their reaction would be.

Besides the incidents at the department store and in Aunt Petunia's wardrobe, there'd been countless smaller moments where Harry had stepped outside of the male box and been admonished for it. One that came to mind was when they were watching TV, and something involving a bunch of effeminate men dressing in women's clothes and lip-synching to pop songs came on, but Uncle Vernon was very quick to change the channel and mutter something vile under his breath.

Hagrid sighed, disappointed but not surprised. 'Well, basically, it means you're not the gender they told you youse were when you were born. It's not some magic thing either; plenty of Muggles are trans too. You may not look like your gender to folks, and you yourself might not figure it out for a while, but…it's what you are. Once you know, you might want to change how you look or dress, some folks change their names, but mostly it's just about being yerself and all. Does that make sense to you?'

Harry nodded with a mixture of relief and bitterness. To know this wasn't some kind of magical condition, but something even known outside the wizarding world, and yet another thing the Dursleys withheld from her, was painful to hear. If she'd had the language and understanding before then, maybe things might have been different.

'So,' she tried to put as delicately as possible, 'you're one too? You're like me?'

Hagrid exhaled a beleaguered sigh. 'Yeah, just the opposite way. Knew from when I was about your age that I was a boy, but it wasn't talked about so much back then. Wasn't until after I got expelled from Hogwarts did I do anything 'bout it.

'After I transitioned, that's when Dumbledore invited me back as gamekeeper. Him and most of the staff know, but otherwise I just keep it to myself. Folk are intimidated enough by my size, and it's none of their business anyway. I'm OK telling you all this, Harry, you need the support…but if you don't mind keeping this between us?'

'Okay,' she replied. Harry understood Hagrid's right to privacy, but she also thought it would be incredibly lonely to not be able to talk about something so personal with folk.

'I'm not gonna lie, Harry, the path ahead of you ain't an easy one,' said Hagrid candidly. 'The average witch or wizard will prob'ly pay you no mind, but there are still folks out there who'll treat you like scum just for being yerself. Plus, there's all sorts of red tape the Ministry puts up before you can get to where you wanna be at. The only problem is you're not going to have the option to do this on the quiet like I did.'

'Why?'

'Cos you're one of the most famous folk in the wizarding world. Everyone knows your name; how you defeated You-Know-Who while you were still in nappies. When they find out The Boy who Lived isn't even a boy? I mean, if their eyes weren't on you before… they will be now! Don't mean to scare you, Harry, but it's just the truth. It's worth it though, trust me, and I'm here for you all the way. In fact, today might be a good chance for you to better acquainted with yourself.'

Hagrid led Harry down into the main pub area of The Leaky Cauldron, and it was about as dark and shabby as the accommodation, and yet still had an endearing charm to it. There were old crones drinking cherry, bedraggled men smoking pipes, and a band of floating instruments playing folk music all by themselves in the corner. As Hagrid walked through the crowds of patrons, they all looked up and smiled, sharing greetings to which he jovially responded.

As they passed by the bar where Tom the innkeeper was serving guests, he perked up as the pair approached.

'Morning, Hagrid. Hope youse both had a good kip. Can I get either of you some breakfast?'

'Afraid not, got Hogwarts business to take care of,' he politely declined, rubbing his hand on Harry's bedraggled hair. 'Besides, this one needs their school supplies.'

'Bless my soul,' said a patron as they looked up and saw Harry and the scar peeking out from behind her fringe. 'It's Harry Potter!'

The Leaky Cauldron became deathly silent for a moment; the enchanted instruments even stopped playing and crashed to the floor. Harry looked out at the masses of people staring at her. Then, the silence broke. An eruption of folk ran up to the young girl, exuding praise and blessings upon her like some kind of messiah.

'Welcome back, Mr Potter,' said one wizard, who grabbed Harry's hand and shook it firmly. 'Welcome back!'

'Doris Crockford, Mr Potter,' said an older witch. 'I can't believe I'm meeting you at last.'

'So proud, Mr Potter. All the best to you, young lad,'

Mr Potter, Mr Potter, Mr Potter. It's all Harry could hear. She wouldn't have minded the attention, and it wasn't any of these people's fault for calling her that, but it still ate at her. She feared she would always be perceived this way.

Luckily, Hagrid was quick to notice how much the attraction was upsetting Harry, and used his size to bat the crowds of folk away.

'All right, that's enough now. Harry's just another kid, after all. Now we must get on. Lots to buy and that.'

Hagrid quickly ushered Harry to the back of the pub, whilst Tom thankfully stepped in to quell the baying crowd. The pair found themselves in a small courtyard that seemed to be mostly used for storage.

'See?' said Hagrid. 'Told yeh youse were famous. Hope that didn't scare you or nothing.'

'I mean, it did,' admitted Harry, 'but not so much the attention. It was what they said. Boy, lad, mister, chap, he, him. I can't blame them, they don't know, but –'

'Agh, pay them no mind. After today, hopefully folk will be saying that a lot less. Though I should ask: what would you prefer to be referred as? I figured she and her, but just to be on the safe side I've been using they and them. More and more folk actually prefer that amongst our kind.'

'She and her works,' said Harry.

'And what about yer name? I mean, there's nothing wrong with it, but 'Harry' does tend to bring a boy to mind.'

Harry hadn't really thought about it. She didn't actually have a problem with her name, and didn't feel like she had to change it just to avoid confusion. Still, it was something to consider.

'Harry's fine for now.'

'No worries, doll,' said Hagrid as they pulled out their pink umbrella again and started tapping it against the bricks. 'Now here we go. Three up…two across…and stand back.'

The bricks started to shake loose from their cement sealant before folding in on themselves, revealing a hole in the wall that just grew wider and wider until the partition barely even existed anymore. Ahead of them laid a long and twisty cobblestone street, with a cavalcade of unique and colourful shops stretching along both sides, all leading to a large, white marble building at the end that towered over the otherwise quaintness of the enchanted high street.

'Welcome,' beamed Hagrid, 'to Diagon Alley.'

Harry remained in complete awe as she stepped through the newly-created archway, so enraptured in fact that she didn't even notice the wall rebuild itself right behind her. She was too busy staring up at the eye-catching shop signs and the fantastically dressed people milling about what looked like something ripped straight from one of the fantasy novels she'd read.

Shopkeepers stood on their steps of their stores announcing today's special offers, owls hooted and cats screeched from a passing pet emporium, and a group of kids were crowded at the shop window staring a broomstick in the window; 'wow, the new Nimbus Two Thousand!' she heard one thrilled boy exclaim.

It was then what should have been the most obvious question finally rang in Harry's mind.

'How am I going to pay for all this, Hagrid?'

'Don't worry, you will,' he assured her. 'That's why we're heading to Gringotts Bank first to open up your parents' vault. You didn't think they left you nothing now, did you?'

Gringotts was sat right at the end of the main stretch of Diagon Alley. The building was a marble monstrosity, adorned with bronze statues on either side of the entrance, and seemed to precariously lean slightly to one side.

Milling outside the bank was a diminutive being in a black three-piece suit. He had curiously long fingers, large pointed ears, and sharp teeth that somewhat clashed with his welcoming smile.

'Hey, Hagrid,' they said. 'Nice to see you!'

'Ay up to yourself, Ragnock!' Hagrid replied cheerily.

'Um, Hagrid?' asked Harry warily as they passed by. 'Was that an…elf?'

'Nah, Ragnock's a goblin. The whole bank is staffed by 'em.'

'Do they all look as scary as him?'

'What? Goblins ain't scary. Sure, a lot of 'em can be quite grumpy, but that don't mean they're bad. I mean, some folk are pretty scared of me. You think that makes me bad?'

Harry shook her head. It was only then she realised how irrational she was being, and she of all people should have known that looks can be deceiving.

'So why is Gringotts all staffed by goblins? Are they just inherently good with money or something?'

'No way! I've met plenty of goblins who were pants with their money. Place is run by 'em 'cos it was founded by 'em; ol' Gringott 'imself. That and a lot of other workplaces discriminate against non-human beings. Bloody disgrace, it is; Ministry has been dragging their feet on equality protections for years. For most goblins, Gringotts is the only place that'll reliably hire 'em.

'Shame too, 'cos goblins are a crafty lot. They're the reason Gringotts is the safest place in all the wizarding world; 'cept perhaps Hogwarts. Only an idiot would try breaking into here, what with all the curses and traps they've set up. You'd likely get fried by a dragon before you even reached a vault.'

'Dragons?' exclaimed Harry. 'There are dragons in here?'

'A few, yeah. They help guard all the gold. Beautiful creatures they are, but dangerous. Always wanted one meself, but getting hold of one legally is near impossible.'

The pair walked through the main lobby of Gringotts which, in contrast to its gleaming white exterior, was quite dark and gloomy. Dozens of goblins were sat up high on desks, reading over various pieces of parchments and stamping them with wax seals. At the far end of the room sat a particularly elderly-looking goblin, whose desk stood ever so higher above his peers, so much so that even Hagrid looked up at him.

'Hagrid,' the goblin said in a high-pitched yet eloquent tone. 'To what do I owe the pleasure?'

'Got a couple of things actually,' he responded. 'First off, we're heading down to the old Potter vault to pick up some funds for Harry.'

The goblin peered down at Harry and smiled gleefully. 'Mr Potter? Good to see you in the flesh finally. Your inheritance has been good hands here at Gringotts.' He then turned his attention back to Hagrid. 'And?'

Hagrid pulled a Hogwarts-sealed letter out of his jacket pocket and handed it to the goblin. 'Orders from Dumbledore,' he said in a hushed voice. 'We need what's in Vault 713.'

The goblin read over the letter carefully, not giving away any emotion in his gaunt face. 'Very well. Griphook will take you.'

The metal gates that sat behind the head goblin's desk opened up, allowing Hagrid and Harry through to a series of cavernous tunnel entrances with minecart-like tracks stretching into them. Stood in front of one of these was Griphook, a particularly grouchy and intimidating goblin who stood with his arms folded and his brows furrowed like a bouncer.

'Get in,' he said with minimal emotion.

Harry and Hagrid clambered into the cart itself whilst Griphook sat in a little conductor's nook to its side. After pulling a few levers, the vehicle shot off into the tunnel like a bullet. Careening through the winding passageways, flipping around to the side and even upside down, they dove deep below the streets of London into the vast Gringotts vaults. It was like a rollercoaster, which Harry enjoyed immensely, whilst Hagrid did his best to hold in his stomach.

The cart soon came to a stop outside a gigantic vault door. Hagrid handed Griphook a small golden key, which the goblin then used to open it up. Smoke and dust burst from the entrance, and behind it was more akin to a treasure room than a bank vault. Harry gazed upon the seemingly endless piles of gold, silver, and bronze coins that engulfed the room with an equal amount of glee and guilt.

Am I ever going to need this much money ever? she pondered.

'The gold coins are called Galleons, the silver ones are Sickles, and the titchy bronze jiggers are Knuts,' explained Hagrid. 'There are seventeen Sickles to a Galleon, and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle.'

'So what is all this worth in pounds?' asked Harry

Hagrid scratched his beard, pondering. 'Haven't the foggiest. Never used Muggle money myself. Safe to say though, you won't be going hungry anytime soon.'

Griphook handed Harry a silken sack with a drawstring roughly the size of a tote bag to put her coins in, which she filled until it became too heavy to carry. Even once she was done, the vault looked like it had barely been touched. Griphook then locked the vault and they boarded the cart again, much to Hagrid's chagrin.

Another topsy-turvy ride later, where Harry swore she saw a gigantic dragon nestled in a cave, they arrived at the second vault. This one was far grander than Harry's, with a massive door covered in some overly-complicated locking mechanism. Griphook required no key to open this one, instead scratching the elongated nail of his right index finger in a pattern across the gate.

He stepped back and the vault opened itself, revealing a massive vault that perplexingly contained only one item: a small package no bigger than the average palm, wrapped in grubby brown paper held together with string. Hagrid picked up the package, which looked like a mere pebble in his large sausage fingers, and stored it inside his jacket.

'Best keep this between ourselves, Harry,' said Hagrid. 'Now that's out the way, the rest of today is all about you.'

A few minutes later, Harry and Hagrid were back outside Gringotts in the summer sun, with the possibilities of Diagon Alley all laid out before them.

'So, Harry,' asked Hagrid. 'D'you want to get all your school supplies out the way first, or would you rather treat yourself a little? I think you deserve it, to be honest. It's your birthday soon, after all.'

Harry's eyes scanned every storefront in sight. If they had the chance that day, they would have loved to go in each and every one of the stores.

The first one that caught their eyes though was a small but sparkly purple building just off the main promenade: Flo Bianca's Hair Emporium. Harry had never enjoyed a haircut when the Dursleys were in charge, and even she was growing tired of its uneven length and dryness. If today was an opportunity to redefine herself, she couldn't think of a better place to start.

Harry entered the beauty parlour with some trepidation, but found the place mostly empty other than its chief stylist herself, Flo Bianca. She was very fashionable for a lady of her middle age, with a sharp black-and-white checkerboard dress and a beehive hairdo that almost brushed across the ceiling. She looked at Harry with a somewhat confused smile.

'Hello, darling,' she said. 'If you're looking for a barber, Bartholomew Wiggin has his shop just around –'

'No,' said Harry nervously. 'No, here's fine. I…I'm actually…I just…'

Harry struggled to get the words out, but Flo understood implicitly. She looked at Harry like one might at a cute puppy.

'Oh, you sweet doll. Don't fret. Auntie Flo's got you covered.'

Flo sat Harry down in one of the salon chairs. Rather than an assortment of scissors and other hair styling tools, Flo simply grabbed her wand and stroked it around Harry's hairline. She quickly uncovered Harry's scar underneath her fringe and, though it clearly took her by surprise, she kept herself friendly and professional.

'So, what are we thinking?' she queried. 'Your hair is already so lovely and thick. It just needs a little moisture and shaping. I could even grow it out for you a bit?'

Harry stumbled mentally for a moment. She had an idea of what she wanted, but she didn't have the language to communicate it. She ended up resorting to pantomime to demonstrate what she was going for.

'I want it, like…smoothed out a bit, bobbed up, and…just off the shoulder? Or maybe…just below the chin? I don't know. No one's ever asked what I want before.'

Flo smiled and held Harry's hand. 'Sweetie, we can try every do under the sun. As long as it makes you happy, my job is done.'

With that, the stylist quite literally started working her magic, swished her wand around Harry's head and shaping her hair into something more than a messy, fraying mop. Her dry locks grew out a little as they became silky smooth, and her messy fringe was rounded out to help soften her face, before her ends were trimmed and tidied to create an even length of hair encircling her neckline.

Harry looked at herself in the mirror and couldn't quite believe the person she was looking at was her. A genuine smile perked across her face, as Flo stood back and proudly admired her handiwork.

'There,' she said. 'That what you were looking for?'

'Yeah,' Harry replied. 'Yeah, pretty much. Thank you.'

'Happy to help, darling. Though, word to the wise, it might look better if you were wearing some clothes that were more…flattering.'

Harry looked down at their oversized, boyish clothes and quickly noticed the discrepancy for herself.

'Might I recommend a visit to Lisandra Chantal's fashion boutique?' suggested Flo. 'It's just in the alley after Flourish and Blotts. She's a bit of a cold character, but tell 'em Flo sent you and she'll give you a good discount.'

Harry paid Flo four Galleons and nine Sickles for her work, then quickly made her way towards Chantal's. Hagrid, who had been waiting outside whilst munching on a breakfast sandwich, quickly followed as Harry ran straight through the crowded main stretch of Diagon Alley. Harry had never felt so energetic in her life; the confidence something as simple as a haircut brought her.

The clothing options at Chantal's store were certainly not what you'd find on a typical high street, and Harry wasn't all that enamoured with the more traditional wizarding garb, but still amongst the piles of vintage clothing she found enough items that peaked her fancy.

Trying on everything she could in the changing rooms, Harry quickly picked up an affinity for pleated skirts, particularly the way they span when she turned around quickly. She eventually settled on one with a red and purple tartan pattern, paired it with a blue cable-knit top, some plain black tights, and a cute little pair of ankle boots as her outfit for today, but picked up several more items that would give her enough different outfits to create an entire new wardrobe; she certainly had the Galleons to spare.

Harry went up to the counter to pay Chantal, whose gaudy but flattering attire and make-up was a surprisingly elegant balance between fortune teller and mob wife. As she handed over her purchases, Harry also placed down her ratty Dudley hand-me-downs.

'Can I donate these or something?' she asked. 'I don't need them anymore.'

'Sorry, we don't take donations,' said the dry-spoken fashionista, not even looking Harry in the eyes as she focused on filing her talon-like nails, 'but I can get rid of them for you if you want.'

Harry nodded, and without another word, Chantal casually whipped out her wand, waved it over the pile of clothes, and they were incinerated in mere seconds. It was an unexpected sight for Harry, but also deeply satisfying; no more baggy boy clothes for her.

'So that's fifty Galleons, hon,' said Chantal as she handed Harry the rest of her shopping in one hand, whilst holding out her other hand open.

Harry was about to reach into her pouch and fork out the cash, but she had one last question. 'So do I look…fine?'

Chantal gave Harry a quick up and down, actually looking at her properly for the first time. She even cracked the tiniest hint of a smile, especially as she examined Harry's hair and caught a glimpse of her scar.

'Flo sent you, didn't she? Not bad, but…those specs? Nah, we have to do something about that. Accio!'

She flicked her wand-wielding wrist again, and a large wooden case from across the store flew off a shelf and onto the counter. Chantal opened it, revealing a selection of glasses of all shapes and sizes.

'Take your pick,' said Chantal. 'This one's on the house, Miss Potter.'

Harry perused the assortment and tried on every pair she could, amazed that each pair magically adjusted to her prescription as soon as she tried them on. They'd never been afforded even a binary choice in glasses before. The moment the school nurse informed her Harry needed them, Aunt Petunia bought her the cheapest pair she could find and she'd just had to make do with her wonky and old-fashioned round specs since. Now, she could find something that actually flattered her face.

The final pair she tried were a pair of black thick-rimmed specs, rounded like her old pair but with cat eye accents that added a more feminine touch. Harry looked once again in the mirror and, though she had smiled a lot that day, this one was by far the biggest. She looked far from the ragged, perpetually lost and miserable boy she seemed like even this morning, and yet she was still recognisably herself.

'What do you think?' she asked.

Chantal just grinned cheekily and said, 'You look like you're in perfect harmony.'

Then it suddenly clicked for Harry. The final piece of the puzzle. Harmony. A beautiful name, one that symbolised how she felt about herself, was undoubtedly feminine, and yet also allowed her to hold onto Harry as a nickname. Harmony Potter now felt even more ready to face the world; to be seen.

Hagrid scarcely even recognised Harmony as she exited the boutique. 'Blimey, lass! Who are you and what have you done with Harry Potter?'

'Actually, it's Harmony now,' she replied, brimming with a newfound confidence.

Hagrid looked like he was about to cry, but held it in. 'It's a lovely name, Harmony. Well chosen. But anyways, now that you're pampered, you've got school supplies to buy. You'd better not have wasted all your folks' money on hair products and shoes.'

Thankfully, even after so many personal purchases, Harmony's sack of money was more than enough to cover everything on her first-year inventory. Since it was just around the corner, they first made their way to the bookstore Flourish and Blotts, where Harmony picked up every book on her list. This ended up being easier said than done, considering the store had very little semblance of organised shelving, with most books just sat piled on top of each other in precarious-looking yet sturdy towers. Afterwards, they headed to the Potions equipment store to pick up the cauldron and vials Harmony would need to cook up all kinds of enchanted concoctions.

The pair then took a break for lunch at a bizarre café, where all the teas and coffees made themselves and Harmony couldn't even recognise half the fillings of the sandwiches available. Hagrid ordered a dragon steak baguette and a side of fried Flobberworms along with a massive pot of tea, whilst Harmony ended up asking if they could make her 'something as close to a cheese and ham sandwich' as they could.

What she ended up being served looked rather unappetising, with the unknown meat being more purple than red or white and the 'cheese' being a peculiar orangey slice that felt like sand paper and smelt like broccoli. However, upon taking a bite, Harmony found it to be more than just edible. It was the most delicious thing she had ever eaten.

As they enjoyed their meal, Harmony read a newspaper called The Daily Prophet that had been left at their table. She was amazed to see the printed photos that moved like an old movie, but the articles were difficult to read; they were all filled with unfamiliar wizarding jargon. She ended up finding her way to the sports section, which was almost entirely dedicated to a game called Quidditch. The photos of athletes zooming across a pitch on broomsticks looked exciting, but even trying to read the exposés she struggled to glean what even the basic rules of the sport were.

'Aw, Quidditch!' said Hagrid as he glanced at Harmony's paper. 'What a game! You're gonna love it, I know it. Sure, first years don't typically get to play given the danger and all, but even just to watch? Makes that Muggle football malarkey look like a dull game of gobstones.'

Once they'd finished up their lunch, Harmony and Hagrid made their way to Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions to sort out her Hogwarts uniform. Madame Malkin herself was a squat but perky older lady who made Harmony feel right at home as she helped her tailor her robes and pick out some appropriate shoes and shirts. As she shopped around, Harmony noticed the robes they were being fitted for were just plain black, but the ones in the windows had different coloured emblems with trims to match. The symbols themselves were also familiar; they were all on the Hogwarts wax crest from her letters.

'What do those colours mean?' she asked Hagrid.

'That shows what house you're in,' he explained. 'There's four at Hogwarts: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. You'll find out which one you're in when you get there, and your uniform should change colour to reflect the choice.'

'Cool! So which house is best?'

'Well, depends which one suits you, really. There's always 'ceptions to the notions, of course, but Gryffindors tend be brave but rebellious, Hufflepuff's more for good-natured softies, Ravenclaws are the smart arses, and Slytherin…don't get me started on them. There's hardly a witch or wizard who turned bad that didn't come from that house. To be honest, couldn't even name you a good one.'

Once all of their uniform items had been sorted, Harmony checked her inventory as they headed out of Madame Malkin's. 'Looks like I just need my wand and…ooh, what about the pet? I've always wanted one!'

The Dursleys had never been too keen on keeping animals in the house, even though they basically treated Harmony like one. Dudley had repeatedly asked for a puppy every Christmas since he was four, but Uncle Vernon always refused; it was the one thing he would never give Dudley no matter how much he sulked. Unfortunately, the only pet Harmony ever got to regularly interact with was Aunt Marge's bulldog Ripper, who certainly lived up to his namesake.

'Y'know what?' said Hagrid. 'It's yer birthday comin' up next week, and I hadn't gotten a chance to sort you a present yet. What say I get you your pet for ya?'

Harmony didn't know what to say. She'd never gotten a genuine present in her whole life from her blood relatives, and yet this man she'd met only yesterday was willing to.

'Hagrid, you don't have to –'

'Ah, twaddle! It's the least I could do. 'Sides, I'm something of an animal expert meself. I'll make sure to get you the best one they got. Not too fond of cats though, they make me nose tickle, and no self-respecting wizard gets a toad these days. Owls are certainly the way to go; they're useful for mail and the like. Why don't I sort you that while you get your wand?'

'Could we swap maybe?' asked Harmony with trepidation. 'I might not know that much about animals, but I certainly know more about them than wands. Can't you pick one of those out for me?'

'Nah, 'fraid I'm banned from buying wands, on account of being expelled and all. Besides, you're not the one who picks out the wand. You'll see.'

Hagrid wandered off, heading towards Eeylops Owl Emporium, whilst Harmony made her way over to what looked like the oldest building in all of Diagon Alley. Its black wooden façade was peeling and half of the lettering of the store sign was worn away, but she could just about make out what it said: Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC.

Harmony entered the store to find it deserted and dusty, as if no one had been in for at least a year. Much of the floorspace was taken up by piles upon piles of small, narrow cardboard cases; they were smaller than shoeboxes, but bigger than an average chocolate box. At first, Harmony thought she might have wandered into a closed store, but in her skin she could sense there was some kind of presence there, even if it was just an ethereal one.

Then, out of nowhere from behind the grubby counter, appeared a spritely old gentleman in a purple coat. He had shimmering blue eyes and bleach-white hair, and a smile that could only be described as "wonderous."

'Hello there, little one,' he said with enthusiastic delight. 'Garrick Ollivander, at your service. And you are?'

'Um…I'm Harmony,' she said a little hesitantly. Once she did though, it felt right. She could get used to saying that.

'Harmony?' pondered Mr Ollivander. 'How…apt. A first-year, I presume? Well, you've come to right place. I can say I've met nearly every great witch or wizard in this country, long before most of them knew they were great, because I sold them their wand. So…how about we try out a few for size?'

Ollivander disappeared into the storage shelves behind the counter and returned with about a dozen different boxes. He opened one, revealing a simple but beautifully-carved wooden stick inside.

'No two Ollivander wands are the same,' said the wandmaker. 'Each is made with their own distinct mix of enchanted cores, wood types and lengths. A wizard can use almost any wand they come across, but there will only ever be one that works perfectly for you. Truly, the wand chooses the wizard.'

He offered the wand to Harmony.

'Try giving this a wave. Beechwood. Dragon heartstring. Nine inches.'

Harmony took a hold of the wand. She felt a slight tickle in their arm and gave it a quick flick, but nothing happened.

Ollivander quickly snatched the wand off of her and gave her another. 'Maplewood. Phoenix father. Seven inches. Again.'

Harmony this time felt a greater force in her arm, but when she swished their arm, it instead caused one of the towering stacks of wand boxes to topple all over the floor.

Ollivander couldn't have grabbed that one out of her hand quick enough. 'No, I thought that might have been too far in the other…sorry, what did you say your name was?'

'Harmony, sir,' she answered. 'Harmony Potter.'

The old man's eyes lit up as he realised who he was talking to. His pupils focused in on Harmony's forehead, peeking through the gaps in her fringe to confirm it for himself.

'Harmony Potter, eh?' Ollivander smiled as an idea came into his head, before quickly dashing back into his storeroom.

When he returned, he held only one wand case, and this one looked much older than any of the others. Ollivander opened the box and took out the wand, which looked even more basic than any of the others; it looked like little more than a well-varnished twig.

'A very unique combination, this one, even for me,' he said eagerly. 'Holly. Phoenix. Eleven inches. It may not look like much, but it's a supple as a wand gets.'

Harmony took the wand in her hand. It felt warm and powerful to the touch. She raised it above her head as sparks of light started to quickly but gently shoot out of its tip. Harmony was delighted, but Mr Ollivander was even more so.

'Curious,' he muttered. 'Perfect, but…very curious, indeed.'

'What do you mean?' asked Harmony.

'I remember every wand I've ever sold, Harmony, and every person I sold them to. The phoenix whose tail feather is the core of your wand gave just one other feather. Far be it from me to claim destiny, but the fact this is the wand that chose you when its sister…gave you that scar.'

Harmony's heart sank. 'You-Know-Who? You…you met You-Know-Who?'

'I told you; met them all longer before they knew their greatness. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was terrible, no question…but great. I'd be wary though, young Potter, for I think the two of you may have more in common than you can imagine.'

Harmony quivered. She didn't know what else to say, or what Mr Ollivander meant exactly by that. She paid her seven Galleons for the wand and left promptly, and she could have sworn the old wandmaker watched her every step until she was out of sight of his window.