Solara Lovegood and the Shadow of the Dragon
Chapter II: The Alley of Diagon
They arrived in the heart of the marketplace by magical means that left Solara feeling queasy. Floo powder, their mother had called it. Luna clutched her hand, her wide, silvery-grey eyes as enchanted as Solara's sharp ones were calculating. Their mother gently ushered them forward through the bustling street, cautioning them not to stray too far.
Another agonizing year had passed, made only bearable by the companionship of her younger sister. Now, at seven, Solara Lovegood—still known in her mind as Visenya Targaryen—was finally stepping into the world she had so carefully observed from the safety of her home. Though the muggle world, as her parents called it, remained hidden from her, the wizarding world and its 'Alley of Diagon' would have to suffice. She had read about both worlds' histories, and the muggles' penchant for war, along with the devastating weapons they used without the aid of magic, intrigued her. For all their limitations, they were industrious, relentless in their growth, something she gleaned from the scraps of news and pages of moving pictures her parents occasionally brought home.
Her thoughts drifted to another life, another age—the thrill of running a man through with a blade, looking him in the eye as he fell, her strength magnified by the terrible majesty of her dragon, Vhagar. Though she had relished the power of aerial assault, soaring high above the flames and fury, there had been something equally enchanting in watching the life drain from someone's eyes, something primal and deeply satisfying. She sighed wistfully, caught up in the memory, unaware that she had done so loud enough for her sister to notice.
"I've seen that look before!" Luna's wide eyes sparkled, her lips tugging at a smile. "It's the way mother looks at father! Were you thinking about a boy?"
Solara barked a laugh, caught off guard by her sister's innocent leap. "You could say that."
It was a fleeting moment, one that reminded her of how little her younger sister truly understood of her own inner life. Yet, in her innocence, Luna also offered Solara a kind of grounding, a calm that even the most potent magic couldn't provide. Hand in hand, they followed their mother deeper into the Alley of Diagon, with Solara's keen gaze absorbing everything around her.
The serpentine street of cobblestone was a revelation—so filled with curiosities, colors, and chaos. Shops buzzed with energy and peculiarities; enchanted brooms floated in a nearby window display, and wizards in vibrant robes bartered over vials of shimmering potions. Her eyes caught on details that held hidden power—rows of strange books, rare ingredients, tools with ancient symbols, and artifacts that seemed to pulse with forgotten magic. This was a world rich with possibilities, and Solara's gaze lingered hungrily over each display, her mouth watering with barely restrained anticipation, like a starving creature denied its due feast.
Luna's small hand squeezed hers, grounding her back to the present as she glanced down at her younger sister, who practically bounced with wonder at every sight and sound. With her other hand, Luna pointed at each marvel with wide eyes, tugging Solara forward with bright enthusiasm.
Their mother, noticing their reactions, smiled indulgently, gently guiding them through the throng of bustling witches and wizards. Each step forward offered more glimpses of magical curiosities: enchanted telescopes, their lenses glinting with flecks of stardust; spellbooks bound in cracked leather that seemed to shiver as they passed; and potion ingredients of every imaginable color, glowing softly on darkened shelves.
For Solara, this was no ordinary walk through the marketplace. It was a path to power. One that even Old Valyria at its height, as much as it pained her to admit, would have paled in comparison to. The years in this quiet, unassuming life as a Lovegood had almost lulled her into a sense of complacency, but here, in the heart of the Alley of Diagon, she felt the old fire rekindle. Each jar of enchanted roots, every stack of spellbooks, even the bickering vendors were hints of the raw magic she craved to master and claim, and a promise that there was more to this world than she'd yet seen.
A sudden roar from some unseen creature jolted Solara from her thoughts, pulling her attention to the windows of a nearby shop—The Magical Menagerie. Behind enchanted glass, creatures from every corner of the magical world chirped, growled, and scuttled, the air alive with their wild energy. The windows gleamed with flashes of color, and as she looked, her gaze fell upon a peculiar creature perched in a small, ornate cage: a horned toad with shimmering emerald scales. Its unblinking eyes glowed faintly, as if guarding a secret of its own.
Beside her, Luna gasped, captivated by the strange little creature, tugging eagerly at Solara's hand to pull her closer to the glass. "Look! Isn't it wonderful?" she murmured, pressing her nose to the glass, her wide eyes filled with delight.
But Solara's mind was elsewhere. Beyond the charms of the Menagerie, her thoughts drifted to the darker corners of Diagon Alley—the shadowed alleyways and forgotten shops that, she imagined, held magic much older and deeper than the tame creatures on display here. Arcane magics, rare artifacts, forbidden texts—somewhere in this marketplace, mysteries slumbered, waiting for the right seeker to disturb them.
A shiver of anticipation crept up her spine. She cast one last glance at the Menagerie, allowing Luna a moment longer to marvel at the horned toad, then gently squeezed her sister's hand.
"Let's keep moving," she murmured, followed by a silent thought: "The true treasures are hidden, waiting. For me."
"Awww," Luna sighed, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face as she glanced back at the horned toad. But her mood brightened almost instantly. "Look at that!" she whispered excitedly, pointing to another shop window brimming with strange and exotic ingredients. Bottles of vivid green liquid glistened in the sunlight, and jars filled with preserved magical creatures seemed to squirm and shift within their glass prisons.
Solara's gaze lingered on a small cauldron in the corner of the display, from which thin tendrils of colored steam wafted up, twisting in the air like enchanted ribbons. She could practically feel the latent magic in the air, the ancient power coursing just beneath the surface of these ordinary objects. Her fingers twitched, almost instinctively, as if they were ready to channel the energy she sensed. She had no wand yet, no proper tools to direct her will—but the magic was there, and she felt it calling to her.
Their mother's hand rested gently on Solara's shoulder. "Come along, my little moon and star," she murmured, steering them toward a quieter section of the alley, away from the bustle and toward the tall, arched entrance of Flourish and Blotts.
Inside, the air was thick with the rich scent of leather and parchment, the walls lined with shelves that soared toward the ceiling, filled with books in every imaginable shape and size. Each volume seemed to whisper promises of hidden knowledge, and Solara's fingers itched to reach for the oldest, dustiest tomes she could find.
Their mother placed a few coins in Solara's hand, then smiled down at them both. "Choose something for yourselves, my darlings. Perhaps a book to spark your studies? It would do you good to be well-read before attending Hogwarts. With any luck, you'll both be racking up house points like I did… Though we still lost in the end, to those cheating snakes," she muttered, her voice dropping to a rare, uncharacteristic frown before catching Solara's eye and smiling brightly again.
Solara nodded, fingers closing tightly around the coins as she accompanied her little sister down the aisles, a quiet intensity burning in her eyes.
Luna laughed, wide-eyed, already wandering toward a display of magical creature guides, but Solara hesitated, her gaze drifting to the shadowed aisles at the back of the shop. She knew the sort of books her mother expected her to pick—a simple introduction to spells, perhaps a guide on household charms or potion ingredients. But Solara wanted more.
A book of substance, something that went beyond schoolyard spells and history lessons. She scanned the aisles, her eyes landing on a shelf filled with arcane titles: Ancient Potions and Poisons, Theories of Transfiguration, and even a weathered, thick tome titled Rites of Lost Magic. She felt drawn to them, each title a stepping stone on a path back to even greater power than the one she had once held. Her gaze lingered on The Dark Arts: Origins and Practice, a book bound in dark cloth, its gold lettering nearly faded away.
But she knew better than to risk it. Not yet.
She picked up a hefty volume nearly as thick as her arm was long, titled Magical Theory and the Elements, its cover adorned with intricate patterns symbolizing earth, fire, air, and water. It was a perfectly respectable choice, one that would satisfy her mother's approval, and yet it hinted at a depth she could explore on her own. She turned it over, catching Luna's gaze as her sister approached, clutching a small book on mooncalves and other nocturnal creatures that was barely as thick as a thimble.
"Found something interesting?" Luna asked, her eyes sparkling, her smile soft and sincere.
"Yes," Solara replied, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "I think this will do." She glanced down at her chosen book, but her mind was already planning, her ambitions growing with each passing moment. She'd begin with the basics, as expected, but her path would lead her far beyond these shelves.
"Looks exciting!" Luna's voice brimmed with gentle encouragement. "Maybe you'll find something wonderful in it." There was such faith in her sister's wide-eyed look, something so unguarded, that Solara felt an odd warmth flicker within her. In another life, she might have dismissed it, but now, in this strange new world, Luna's unshakable belief in her was one of the few things that felt steady.
As they approached the counter, Solara felt her mother's gaze drift to the hefty tome clutched in her arms. Her mother's brow arched in a mixture of amusement and concern. The book was nearly triple the amount of what Solara had been allotted, and she sensed the hesitation as her mother looked over its thick spine.
Before Solara could craft an excuse, Luna spoke up, her small voice soft yet resolute. "It's alright, Mother. I'll return my book to the shelves. Solara should have hers. She'll be attending Hogwarts before I will." Her tone was so sincere, her silvery eyes shining with nothing but earnest generosity.
Solara's breath caught, and she felt a strange warmth settle in her chest. She hadn't expected such a selfless offer from Luna, nor the hint of remorse it left in her. But there was no time to dwell on it.
Their mother's gaze softened, and she gave Luna an approving smile. "How kind of you, Luna," she said, ruffling her hair gently. But as Luna moved to set her book aside, their mother surprised them both by reaching for her own pocketbook and setting down enough coins to cover the difference. "You've both chosen well. I wouldn't dream of leaving here without both of my girls satisfied."
A smile broke across Luna's face as she clutched her own book once more, and Solara felt a faint, reluctant gratitude. For all her ambitions and plans, she hadn't realized how rare it was to have someone who would sacrifice for her so freely. She allowed herself a small nod of thanks toward Luna, who beamed back at her. She would hold onto the memory of Luna's gesture as long as she drew breath—a reminder that in this life, she might find allies in unexpected places.
As they left the shop, Solara's arms wrapped protectively around her oversized tome, her grip fierce as her gaze swept over the crowded street like a hawk. Every shadow, every flicker of movement in the alleyways felt like a threat, as if spells were lurking, ready to snatch her precious book away. She tightened her hold, her steps quickening as her mother led them through the bustling crowd, Luna skipping beside her with a carefree smile.
The book was a comforting weight in her hands, an anchor for her ambitions that now felt so close, tantalizingly within reach. Even without a wand, without the formal training that awaited her in a few short years, she knew she was meant for far more than the simple charms and household spells that contented so many. Her aspirations pulsed beneath her skin, deep, unyielding.
"No," she thought, a faint smile curling her lips. "I will not be ordinary."
They turned a corner, and Solara's eyes landed on a narrow, crooked building with a faded sign above the door: Ollivanders. She knew the tales—this was the place where wands chose witches and wizards, each bond as unique as the witch or wizard it was meant to serve. That dark doorway seemed to beckon her, as if it, too, recognized her for what she was—or perhaps for what she had once been. She paused, narrowing her gaze, feeling a faint thrill as she imagined herself stepping into that shop. Someday, she would claim a wand that was hers alone, a conduit for the power she felt simmering beneath the surface. The thought filled her with an almost fierce anticipation.
"Soon, Solara," came Luna's gentle voice, accompanied by a small, encouraging tug on her hand. Solara glanced down, surprised to find her sister watching her with that serene, knowing smile of hers. Somehow, Luna understood the allure of that doorway, the strange pull it had on her older sister.
"Yes," Solara murmured, letting her sister lead her forward, though her gaze lingered on Ollivanders until it was out of sight. Soon enough, she would return to that doorway, and it would mark the first step in reclaiming the magic and power that had once belonged to her.
Their mother, a few steps ahead, had slowed her pace, resting a hand on her stomach, a subtle but unmistakable sign of early pregnancy. Solara noted the gesture with curiosity, a glimmer of understanding settling within her. It had been unspoken, but she felt it—the presence of another to come, another who would share their path.
"Would you girls care to grab a bite before we depart? The Leaky Cauldron is just ahead," their mother asked, her voice gentle and warm.
At that, Solara's stomach gave an audible rumble, betraying her before she could answer. She gave a slight nod, suppressing a smirk. "I would not dismiss a platter of bangers and mash," she said, trying to ignore the peculiar way the word bangers lingered on her tongue. It would be a long time before she grew accustomed to how these people spoke of sausages.
"A stew would be much appreciated, Mother," Luna chimed in, her voice bright and eager, while the faintest of rumbling resonated within her tiny belly.
At the sound of her sister's rumbling belly, Solara suppressed a laugh, sharing a quick, knowing look with Luna. Their mother smiled warmly at them both, clearly amused by their growing appetites. "One bangers and mash, and a hearty stew coming right up," she said, guiding them toward the worn, inviting door of the Leaky Cauldron. Inside, the pub was warm, filled with the scents of hearty fare and rich, earthy herbs. Solara took it all in—the cozy wooden beams, the flickering candles in glass lanterns, the clinking of mugs and silverware. It was a far cry from the feasting halls of her past, where roasts had been heaped on long tables, laughter loud and raucous. Yet there was something comforting here, something oddly familiar in the warmth and chatter.
They found a quiet table near the hearth, and as they settled into their seats, Solara's gaze swept the room, cataloging its occupants with hawkish scrutiny before finally setting her large tome down at her side. Wizards and witches chatted over their drinks, a witch consulted a stack of spell scrolls, and hanging on pegs by the door were cloaks and hats. Her mother busied herself with placing their order, while Luna, humming to herself, traced invisible patterns on the scratched wooden tabletop.
It was then that Solara's eyes landed on a wizard sitting alone in a shadowy corner of the pub, engrossed in a newspaper clipping. The man was draped in dark, sweeping robes of heavy, finely woven fabric, so deep a black they absorbed the dim light, as if the shadows themselves were drawn to him. His hair, lank and dark as ink, framed a face that was striking in its severity: high cheekbones, thin lips set in a disapproving line, and eyes like cold, fathomless pits. He held an intense, almost predatory focus as he read a scrap of newspaper, as though each word held a dangerous secret. The severe hook of his nose and the downward slant of his mouth lent him an unapproachable air, and the way his gaze flickered over the page was both meticulous and cutting, as though he were tearing each sentence apart in his mind.
Before she could look away, a glint of moving text on the newspaper clipping he held caught her eye. The name "Rita Skeeter" appeared at the top in elaborate, curling script, and below it, bold words sprang off the page: Countdown to Hogwarts: The Boy Who Lived Enters Our World Soon!
The article continued, describing—somewhat breathlessly—how Harry Potter, "the wizarding world's most famous child," would be of age to attend Hogwarts in a few years. Skeeter speculated on everything from his rumored whereabouts to his "supposedly tragic, yet ultimately heroic" childhood. According to her, whispers claimed he had been hidden in the Muggle world all these years to protect him from dark forces, though no one seemed to know exactly where he was. A countdown clock in the corner of the page marked the days until he might step onto Platform 9.
The dark-robed man's expression soured as he read, his lips twisting in disdain, as if the very words left a bad taste in his mouth. Solara's curiosity sparked further, and she leaned forward a little, trying to gather more about him and the article he read without being obvious. The figure was magnetic. There was no doubt he commanded power, a coiled, precise kind of authority that practically hummed from him. It struck Solara as both impressive and familiar; he was someone who knew darkness as she did. She felt the thrill of recognition—he would not be a typical, simple wizard content with everyday spells. This was someone who would understand ambition, someone who might see through false masks and simple facades, and she was both intrigued and wary of that in equal measure.
"Harry Potter," Solara muttered to herself, as she tore her eyes away from the man and back to the paper he read, remembering snippets she'd read about him in history books. She was well aware of the legend—how he'd vanquished a dark lord while barely a year old. She knew that power of that magnitude, even if wielded unknowingly, could make him a formidable ally or an obstacle, depending on where his loyalties lay.
Her mother's voice cut through her thoughts as she placed their order with the barmaid, who nodded and disappeared into the bustling kitchen. When Solara glanced back at the dark-robed man, he had caught her gaze, meeting it with a level stare, his obsidian-black eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that nearly made her breath catch. There was no curiosity in his expression—only a keen, calculating look, as though she were a puzzle to be solved. His brow arched, as if to say, "You are not as invisible as you think."
A tingle of both excitement and defiance flared in her chest. "You dare challenge me?" she muttered, her lips quirked into a faint smirk, undaunted by the silent contest of stares between them. This wizard was no stranger to secrets, she could tell, and if anything, he would respect strength. She held his gaze a moment longer before allowing herself to look away, pretending to study the table as her heart beat in double time. Whoever he was, he possessed a kind of power that was beyond her reach at the moment, but she felt an odd satisfaction in knowing that one day, she would be his equal. Or perhaps more.
"What's caught your eye?" Luna asked, her tone playful as she followed Solara's gaze. "That man with the newspaper?"
Solara offered her a faint smile. "Not the man," she scoffed. "Only that page of some of the wizarding world's finest gossip, I suppose." She motioned subtly to the headline. "They're rather… invested in this Harry Potter."
Their food arrived, interrupting their conversation, the hearty aroma of bangers and mash rising from Solara's plate, while Luna received a thick stew with buttered bread.
Luna's gaze lingered thoughtfully on the mysterious man a moment longer, her expression distant. "The boy who lived…" she whispered again, her tone almost reverent, as if savoring the words like a prophecy. "Do you think he'll be like one of the heroes in the stories? Mother once mentioned him. She called him a miracle."
Solara raised an eyebrow, considering this. "Perhaps he is," she replied, the words chosen carefully. Miracles, after all, could be defined in many ways. "But the wizarding world seems more interested in his past than his future. I wonder if he'll even live up to their expectations."
Her little sister's bright eyes sparkled with that same dreamlike wonder, her spoon poised mid-air as she continued. "Maybe he'll be a friend," she mused, glancing at the clipping once more. "A hero to the world—but even heroes need friends."
She chuckled softly, shaking her head. "If he does, then we should be the first to offer our hands. But its just as likely that he'll find the world's expectations the be nothing but chains, and recoil at anyone claiming to be a friend."
She felt Luna's eyes upon her, her brows furrowing slightly at Solara's words, though she seemed to accept them with her usual patience. "I think everyone deserves friends," she said, taking a thoughtful sip of her stew. "Even those with big destinies."
Solara didn't respond, instead turning her attention to her own meal. As she sliced into her bangers and mash, her mind flickered back to the name "Harry Potter." A boy with that much attention, so young—The Boy Who Lived. The title tasted bad in her mouth. Power didn't reside in the past, no matter how bright its legend. It lay in the choices yet to be made, the paths still to be walked. And if Harry Potter was to be some pivotal force, she wanted to know what it might mean for her own ambitions. She would watch, she decided, quietly, from the fringes if she had to, and be ready.
Still, Luna's words lingered in her mind, leaving a faint echo as they ate. She glanced at her sister, who was now humming contentedly as she dipped her bread into the thick broth. Maybe in this world, friendships could be more than mere alliances forged in blood and fire, more than weapons to wield. Luna had a way of seeing people not for their value in a larger plan but as something else entirely, as pieces that added a warmth to the world Solara hadn't expected.
For now, though, she had her own path to forge, her own destiny to seize. She would return to the Alley of Diagon one day for her wand, and with it, she would carve her way forward. And when that day came, figures like the man in the corner—and even the so-called Boy-Who-Lived—would either bow to her rising strength or find themselves consumed by it.
She took a final glance at her mother, whose hand rested on her slightly rounded belly, a quiet anticipation in her expression. A faint smile curled on Solara's lips, a silent promise in her mind. "Soon enough, the dragon will rise," she thought, her gaze shifting to Luna, who smiled back at her, oblivious to the resolve burning in her sister's eyes.
"And the dragon," she mused, casting a last glance at the softly glowing hearth, "will have three heads. As before, so again."