~#~
Petunia stormed out of the bank in a huff after the goblin refused her demands for a better deal. She dragged Harry through the alley, who could only gaze longingly at the shops as they whizzed past.
Outside, Petunia used a phone booth to call Vernon. They agreed to meet, and she treated herself to a drink at a nearby café. To Harry's surprise, she even gave him the small biscuit that came with it—a rare moment of kindness. By the time Petunia finished her drink, Vernon had arrived, having left Grunnings early.
"What's wrong, sweetums?" Vernon asked, noticing Petunia's sour expression.
"Oh, Vernon, they're just impossible!" Petunia sighed, exasperated.
"Who are, pet? Who's just impossible?"
"Those bankers," she said, her irritation evident. "They wouldn't budge on the impossible exchange rate."
Vernon grunted, clearly displeased. "Typical," he muttered. "Don't worry, Pet. I'll handle them."
Once more, Harry was led through the tavern to the wall outside. Petunia ordered Harry to open the archway, which presented a problem since he only had the memory of the pattern to rely on. He shrugged and tapped his fingers against the bricks, hoping to replicate the barkeeper's actions. As expected, nothing happened. Remembering how the man had used what must have been a wand, Harry charged his finger with magic and tried again. This time, the archway opened immediately.
Harry was excited to be among his own kind again, but Vernon was determined to ruin everything. His uncle kept muttering insults under his breath—"freaks!" and "No sense of what normal people wear." Harry rolled his eyes and did his best to ignore the Dursleys, taking the time to look around.
To his dismay, Harry couldn't help but notice that some of Vernon's observations weren't entirely wrong. Despite their magical abilities, the wizards and witches seemed surprisingly mundane.
Vernon marched straight up to the goblin Petunia had pointed out, who Harry noticed had a plaque that read 'Goldclaw.'
"You there, what's the rate for exchanging your weird money?" Vernon demanded rudely, poking a finger in Goldclaw's face.
Behind him, Harry saw two guards stationed by the wall stiffen, hands tensing on their spears.
Vernon, oblivious to the tension, continued his tirade. Determined to spend as little as possible on Harry, he started questioning the goblin about the goods and services available in Diagon Alley. Harry quickly grew bored and began to observe the room, noticing how other customers and goblins paused to watch Vernon.
"So do you agree then on the price for the items we need?" Vernon finally said.
"Yes, yes, fine! You're the most difficult customer I've had in years," Goldclaw announced joyfully.
For the first time, Harry saw his uncle genuinely happy. It was strange seeing Vernon treat the goblins like normal people, despite his usual disdain for anything magical. They collected their items and left, Vernon complaining loudly whenever something magical caught his eye.
Vernon's behaviour drew glares from every witch and wizard. No Muggle had ever been so large and disrespectful in their alley. Even the most Muggle-loving wizards couldn't help but glare. They were so busy mentally insulting Vernon that they didn't notice the small boy hidden behind him. This ensured Harry Potter's first visit to Diagon Alley went unnoticed by the wizarding public.
To Harry's relief, by the time they had bought half of his supplies, Vernon grew bored and returned to work, allowing them to shop in peace. Harry was surprised at how easily Petunia navigated the alley, finding each item on his list without hesitation. He didn't dare question her, fearing she might leave him there if he did.
As they shopped, Harry realised his first impression of the alley had been wrong. Despite the magic surrounding him, everyone seemed so ordinary. They had the power to do anything, yet they put their purchases in simple paper bags. Harry swore he would never let his magic become mundane.
They passed shops with colourful displays of magical artefacts and strange creatures. One shop had a window full of moving portraits, where wizards and witches waved at passing shoppers. Another had a display of enchanted quills that danced and wrote by themselves on parchment.
Finally, with only a few items left, Petunia decided to send Harry alone to the wand shop. She didn't want to wait while he tried out wands and went off to buy his robes and writing supplies.
Entering the wand shop, Harry was initially disappointed. It seemed like a regular antique shop, but instead of interesting trinkets, it sold sticks and dust. His opinion quickly changed when he noticed each box glowed with a unique brilliance, making the air shimmer vibrantly. The store sang out in a rainbow of colours, each box a note in a beautiful symphony.
"Ahh, Mr. Potter, welcome to my store," a voice sounded from behind him. "My name is Ollivander. I expected you would be coming, though I thought you'd arrive next week with the other Muggle-raised children. No matter, no matter... always expect the unexpected, as my father used to say."
"I remember your parents. They were brilliant and would have changed the world had they lived. Alas, the unexpected happened. The same night that stopped a great and terrible war cost us two of the greatest minds and left you an orphan."
This was the first time Harry had heard anyone speak positively about his parents. "I was told my parents died in an accident," he said, confused.
"An accident? I knew them well. A simple accident would never have killed them. No, child, it took the Dark Lord himself to end their lives. A creature that calls himself Lord Voldemort, though I knew him by another name. Your parents had found a way to end his reign."
Ollivander sighed deeply. "The wizarding world believes you, a one-year-old child, defeated the Dark Lord. Fools, the lot of them. They run and hide, yet blame others for their inaction. You look just like your parents, you know? You have James' looks but Lily's eyes and her curiosity too."
Harry was stunned. All his life, he had been told his parents were no-good drunks who died in an accident. This was the first time he had even learned their names, and now he was hearing they were heroes. He couldn't believe it.
As he mulled this over, a tape measure flew across the room and started measuring him. Harry was fascinated by the trail of magic linking the tape measure to the old man. Ollivander noticed, his eyes narrowing as he watched Harry follow the magic.
"Fascinating…" Ollivander murmured. "Very fascinating…"
Ollivander started handing Harry wand after wand. Minutes passed, and Harry began to fear that none of the wands would work for him. Each wand barely reacted to his touch, and he grew more and more anxious. Desperation gnawed at him with each unsuccessful attempt.
He was shocked when the next wand, a particularly frail one, spat sparks and burst into flames as soon as he held it up.
The wand clattered against the floor, where it sat burning until Ollivander doused it with a flick of his wand, leaving behind the burnt stub of its handle and an oddly unsinged silver hair.
Harry's frustration bubbled up. He grabbed the next wand, a "Holly and phoenix feather, 11 inches, slightly springy…" and forced his magic into it with all his might, desperate to create whatever reaction Ollivander had been waiting for.
The wand started to tremble in his hand, and for a moment, Harry thought he had succeeded. But then, with a loud crack, the wand exploded in a burst of fiery sparks. The force of the explosion knocked Harry backwards, and he landed hard on the floor, singed and breathless.
"Well, I never! Mr. Potter, in all my years I have never come across this situation before," Ollivander exclaimed, rushing to Harry's side to check if he was alright. "I know exactly which wand would be best suited for you; however, I regret to say I sold it some sixty years ago. The phoenix feather in that Holly wand would work wonders for you. The issue seems to come from the wood itself. You see, Holly favours those that need help overcoming great emotion, a favourite for most children…"
Harry shuffled his feet self-consciously. He knew he had greater control over his emotions than any other child in his school. By controlling his emotions, it further prevented the Dursleys from taking notice of him. He didn't think anyone had ever noticed before, and he had grown to hate it, as he was the only one who needed such control. Luckily, Ollivander continued on, unaware of the child's awkwardness.
"The wands that have reacted best for you have all been woods of either cedar, fir, acacia or pine. Those woods often favour individuals who are independent, strong, and, most importantly, one who has or will survive a mortal conflict. Other lesser woods would be beech, walnut and yew; those woods are most often seen in the hands of particularly strong witches and wizards, be that magically or physically.
"The wand I had sold was a phoenix and yew wand, the phoenix feather was the twin to that holly wand on the floor. I would suggest elder wood as the best suited for you, however, I myself do not possess elder wood, given few wizards are ever capable of dealing with it. Of course, even if I had such an elder wood, I would not inflict such a fate upon you…"
Harry faintly wondered if Mr. Ollivander always scared his customers out of buying a wand, or if he was doing it just for him. As if reading his mind, Ollivander grimaced.
"I've said too much, I see—a curse of age, my boy, one I hope you will live to see for yourself… Now, I believe a walnut wand will suit you best for the time being. The walnut tree is often mistaken for an elder tree, but whereas the elder tree is stubborn, walnut is adaptive and will listen to almost any wielder, should they be strong enough." Ollivander hurried into the back room and returned with a block of what must have been walnut.
"Hopefully, the wand will allow you to pass through school without suffering from an unbonded wand. I have known students with great potential suffer simply because they have used the wrong wand. I will take the phoenix feather core from the holly wand and make you a new wand out of walnut and the phoenix core. Since it is my own fault for not having a suitable wand, it will come at no extra cost."
Ollivander smiled at Harry, and he felt warmth well up within him. Never before had anyone been as kind or helpful towards him as Ollivander was being, and Harry felt unsure of how to process it.
"The wand will be finished within the week, and I can either owl it to you or you can come pick it up here in a week's time."
"I think it would be best if I came back in a week, sir. The neighbours will say something if they see an owl arriving with a wand," Harry said cautiously.
"Very wise, although you should know most post owls are often enchanted to be unnoticeable to Muggles. If you still wish to come in person, I will await you within the week, then, Mr. Potter. You can pay for the wand once you have it." With this, he held out his hand, and Harry shook it before starting to leave.
As he opened the door, Ollivander called out to him, "The wand will never fail you, however, as you age, you may find it lacking in power. If that should happen, come here, or to other wandmakers if you so wish, and think about getting another wand. Although it is rare, it is not unheard of for a witch or wizard to use different wands depending on the circumstance. Take, for example, Albus Dumbledore. I myself sold him two wands while he was in school and a third after he graduated. I have heard he has since gained a fourth which he uses regularly."
Nodding, he left the store and met up with Petunia.
"Well, boy, have you gotten your… thing?"
"Mr. Ollivander said it would be ready by next week and that I will need to come collect it then."
Petunia sniffed disdainfully. "Fine, come along then, the sooner we leave, the better!"
A week later, Harry Potter journeyed back to the Leaky Cauldron alone. The street was much quieter, allowing him to easily navigate the cobblestones. When he reached Mr. Ollivander's store, a bushy-haired girl was trying wands, and Harry noted that the pile of wands next to her was far smaller than his had been.
Mr. Ollivander held up one finger in the universal sign of "In a moment" and handed another wand to the girl. Harry knew it was the one for her as her magic rushed through it, evident by the golden sparks that left the wand.
The girl's parents, whom Harry had not noticed beside her, paid Mr. Ollivander for the wand and turned to go. The girl noticed him and exclaimed, "Oh, hello! Are you here to buy your wand too?"
Harry thought it a bit silly to ask this, as the only thing this shop sold was wands, so obviously he was here for a wand. But he thought that might be seen as rude, so instead, he replied, "Yes, Mr. Ollivander said it would be done by now," and looking past the girl at Ollivander, he was pleased to see the man nod.
"Oh, why didn't you just buy one of the premade wands?" she asked, cocking her head to the side.
"Because they didn't work for me," Harry replied, quite confused as to what she wanted from him.
"So you got one made for you? That must have been very expensive. I wonder if it would be better to get a wand made for me."
Harry was taken aback by her rapid-fire questions. She seemed to have mastered the ability to talk without needing to stop for breath. It was a new experience for somebody to be enthusiastic while talking to Harry. He was at a loss as to how to respond.
Luckily for him, Ollivander stepped in and said, "The fault lay with me, Ms. Granger, so it was of no additional cost to him. As you are still learning, a wand built for you would lose its connection, and thus power, quickly as you mature and change. On that note, here is your wand, Mr. Potter."
He handed Harry a wand box. Unlike the boxes on the shelves, this box was black with an elaborate bronze swirling pattern, and Harry's name had been carefully written along the side. When he opened the box, his eyes first caught the dark blue lining before he saw his wand.
The wand itself was light silver, while the handle was a much darker shade. Where the handle met the body of the wand, the dark silver continued upwards as if it was absorbing the lighter silver.
Harry felt like the wand was singing just for him. He reached out to it, and before he could even touch it, magic sparked from him into his wand. It jumped from the box into his open hand and spat out a shower of dark green sparks. The shop shook with the power released, and some of the boxes on the shelf started smoking.
The song, which Harry had noticed on his first visit, rose to a crescendo as each wand in the store sang loudly. To Harry, it sounded like his wand was leading the choir of magic.
Ollivander clapped happily and, with a wave of his hand, cleared the smoke and put to rights the minor damage done. "Well done, Mr. Potter! It's been many years since I've had a reaction that strong within the shop!"
"Will that happen every time I hold it?" Harry asked, as cool as it had been, he thought it would get inconvenient quickly.
"Perhaps after extended periods apart, but so long as you don't leave it for months on end, you should be fine. Although, I suspect that wand will always be eager to be with you, Mr. Potter," Ollivander said warmly.
Before Harry could respond, a bushy-haired girl suddenly jumped in front of him, her eyes wide with excitement.
"You're… you're Harry Potter!" she exclaimed, pointing at him.
"Hermione, it is rude to point," her mother admonished her, grabbing her daughter's hand.
"How do you know my name?" Harry asked cautiously. As far as he was aware, very few people knew of him. More than once, he had to remind a teacher what his name actually was.
"You're famous! There's an entire shelf dedicated to you in the bookshop here. I haven't gotten to read all of them yet, but what I have read is amazing." For the first time, she actually stopped to take a breath, and Harry was amazed to see she barely paused before diving right back into her questions.
"Is it true you killed a dragon at 6 and saved the eleven princess at 8? How about the spells you have made? Will you teach me some, or at least how to make my own spells?"
"Erm… I haven't done any of that… I didn't even know I could do magic until I was 7 years old," Harry stammered out. He just wanted to pay Mr. Ollivander and leave, but the girl was standing between them, and he didn't think pushing her out of the way would leave a good impression.
Fortunately, once again, Ollivander seemed to detect his plight and loudly said, "That will be 10 Galleons, Mr. Potter." After handing over the 10 golden coins, he made to leave the store, hoping to just be able to leave and go home in peace.
It was not to be, however, as the girl followed beside him, her parents following behind them.
"So, you knew about magic by 7? That must have been so fantastic. I only learned when I got my letter, but this was the earliest we could finish my shopping… What is it like to be brought up in the wizarding world? I expect I will need to learn a lot!"
"I wasn't brought up in the wizarding world. I was brought up by my Aunt and Uncle. I just read fiction books about magic and taught myself," Harry said uneasily. He didn't like talking about his childhood.
"Can you show me some magic? Please."
Sighing to himself, Harry concentrated and made a Galleon rise out of his pocket to float above his hand. It was then joined by a further 3 coins. Once he had the coins stable, Harry then made them dance around each other. Despite the simplicity of the magic, it still made him extremely happy that he was able to do it.
Hermione seemed to agree as she looked on amazed, and Harry found he liked sharing his love of magic. He just wished the girl wouldn't talk so much.
"That's amazing," she sighed. "And you're doing it without a wand too."
"How would I have learned to do it with a wand?" he asked incredulously. "You just saw me buy it."
"Oh… of course, I guess it would be much easier to do it with a wand though. I expect it's quite tiring to maintain that, right?"
"I suppose it might be," Harry agreed, shifting slightly as he walked. "I've just gotten used to doing it. I guess I just don't notice the drain anymore."
With that, Harry stopped the coins and returned them to his pocket. As if sensing his use of magic, his wand twitched in his pocket, so he summoned it and started playing with it instead.
Hermione was stunned as this scrawny boy did what her books had told her was impossible. They said that only the most powerful of wizards could do wandless magic and that it would take a great deal of energy to make something float and move even with a wand.
Yet this boy in sewn-together clothing didn't even realise it was meant to be nearly impossible! When they left the tavern, Harry bid them a hasty farewell and ran off towards his uncle's work.
The Granger family looked after him; Hermione was still trying to process how he knew so much more than her and yet played it off like it was nothing. Her parents, however, looked after him out of concern. He seemed too quiet and shy compared to other children.
They then looked down at Hermione and figured he might not be like that normally and was just overwhelmed by their daughter and waved their concerns away.
When the Grangers got home, Hermione attempted to get one of her coins to float, but no matter how hard she wished it to move, the coin wouldn't shift at all. In frustration, she touched her wand while still focusing, and the coin shot up into the ceiling.
Her mother popped her head into her room and asked, "What was that, darling?"
"Oh, nothing, I dropped a book," Hermione said, thanking everything she had that her mother hadn't looked up and seen the gold coin embedded almost the entire way into her ceiling.