Chapter 2 - Books and Decisions
As soon as Harry set foot in Diagon Alley, the welcoming chaos of that place wrapped around him. Wizards and witches ran through the narrow alleys, each lost in their own tasks, hurriedly trying to complete their school supply lists before the start of term. The air vibrated with lively voices, children's laughter, and quiet whispers. Summer was ending, and that only seemed to intensify the frenzy of last-minute shopping.
Harry watched the passersby with discreet interest. It was curious how some wizards insisted on wearing extravagant robes that resembled a distant era, while others walked around in ordinary Muggle clothes, a chaotic mix that made the place even more fascinating. It was as if time there had long since stopped, inexplicably coexisting with the modern world pulsing beyond its borders.
As he passed by Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, Harry smiled to himself. He could still taste the exotic ice creams Florean had offered him, insisting that he try each new invention. Perhaps the mint with chocolate chips had been his favorite so far. The memory of lazy afternoons and Florean's gentle smiles brought him a brief feeling of tranquility.
Further ahead, the Quidditch shop looked about to burst with the crowd gathered in front of the window. Harry approached, drawn by the commotion, and immediately understood why: the Firebolts, shiny and majestic, stood on display as if made of pure gold. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine flying over the Hogwarts pitch on one of them, feeling the strong wind on his face and hearing the crowd roar below him. But he quickly pushed the thought away, remembering the carefully counted Galleons in his pouch.
He shook his head and moved on. He stopped for a moment in front of Madam Malkin's shop, observing the elegant robes in the windows. It would be nice to wear something that wasn't too big or too short this year, he thought, but quickly dismissed the idea. He didn't want to have to explain to his uncle where he had gotten money for new clothes. He imagined Uncle Vernon's furious expression and decided it probably wasn't worth it.
He decided to go straight to Flourish and Blotts. To his relief, the store was nearly empty, with only a Muggle family being helped by a kindly smiling clerk. Harry walked slowly through the aisles, letting his fingers run over the worn spines of the books. Something about that quiet, knowledge-filled place deeply comforted him.
Almost without realizing it, he reached a more secluded section of the store. His eyes were drawn to old books, bound in aged leather, that seemed to whisper forgotten stories. One title caught his attention: The Art of Healing – A Complete Guide for Healers. He picked it up from the shelf and ran his hands over the yellowed pages, feeling the rough paper beneath his fingers.
"Interested in magical healing, young man?"
Harry turned around, startled, realizing that the clerk was now smiling at him, a welcoming expression on her face.
"Ah... I'm not sure," he replied, carefully closing the book. "It seemed interesting, but I'm not certain yet."
"It's a noble profession," the woman said softly, adjusting her glasses. "Many Healers start exactly like this, curious. It's a hard path, of course, but saving lives… well, there's no more powerful magic."
Harry nodded slowly, thoughtful. "I'd never considered that possibility before."
The woman smiled, noticing his hesitation. "If you want my advice, don't dismiss anything before you try. Sometimes, the most unexpected paths are the best ones."
"Have you worked here long?" Harry asked, intrigued by the calm confidence she conveyed.
"Oh, far too long," she replied with a soft laugh. "I've seen many young people like you choosing their futures among these shelves. Believe me: whatever path you choose, make sure it's yours. Not because of pressure or a title someone gave you."
Harry stared at her in silence for a few seconds. "Thank you. I'll remember that."
He paid for the book and left, feeling strangely lighter. With the volume tucked under his arm, he decided to go back to Florean's ice cream. Sitting at an outdoor table, he ordered his usual—mint with chocolate chips—and opened the book again. As he read about healing spells, rare herbs, and difficult potions, something inside him awakened to a new possibility.
Maybe, Harry thought as the ice cream slowly melted beside him, being more than just the boy who lived wasn't such an impossible thing after all.
~HP~
Harry was so absorbed in his reading that time seemed to have completely lost its meaning. The book's aged pages opened up a fascinating world for him, filled with stories about healing spells and nearly forgotten techniques of medicinal potions. The natural light slowly began to fade, replaced by the golden glow of magical lanterns scattered around Diagon Alley, but Harry didn't notice. He only returned to reality when he felt a firm yet gentle hand on his shoulder.
"Sorry to interrupt, Harry," said Florean Fortescue with a warm smile, "but it's getting dark. I need to close the ice cream parlor."
Harry blinked, surprised, looking around. Only then did he realize that most of the tables were already empty and that Florean was stacking chairs at the back of the shop.
"Oh, right. Sorry, Florean," said Harry, carefully closing the book and standing up. "I got carried away."
Florean smiled understandingly.
"Never apologize for getting lost in a good book. It means you chose well."
Harry nodded in gratitude and walked out, holding the heavy volume under his arm as he strolled slowly through Diagon Alley. Now, the shop windows were lit by soft magical glows, and the street was gradually emptying, with only a few wizards still finishing their day's shopping.
Upon entering the Leaky Cauldron, the cozy warmth of the pub welcomed him like an old friend. The appetizing smell of hot soup and freshly baked bread made him realize how hungry he was. Harry picked his usual table, in the quietest corner, and opened the book again, savoring a few minutes of silence before dinner.
"Healer, huh?" Edgar's rough voice suddenly appeared beside him, making Harry look up from the text.
He smiled at the old man, adjusting himself in his chair. Edgar had a curious and amused expression on his face.
"Maybe. I'm still trying to figure out what I want," Harry replied honestly, running his hand over the worn brown cover of the book. "I think I like the idea of helping people. Not because I have to, you know?"
Edgar pulled out a chair, something unusual for him, and sat down across from Harry, folding his arms on the table.
"Choices you make for yourself are usually the hardest, but also the most rewarding," Edgar said in a quieter voice, as if sharing a valuable secret. "Life's already thrown too many responsibilities at you, boy. It's about time you choose something because you want to."
Harry took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he absorbed those words.
"It's just that everything up until now was decided by other people. It's strange to think I can finally choose for myself."
Edgar smiled with a mix of sympathy and wisdom, leaning in slightly toward Harry.
"Well, it's about time, don't you think?" He gave him a friendly wink. "Now enough of this serious talk. The onion soup's excellent today, want some?"
"Sure. And bread, please," Harry answered, closing the book and setting it aside.
"Great choice," said Edgar, standing up with surprising agility. "Be right back."
A few minutes later, Edgar returned with a steaming bowl and a crusty loaf of bread, setting them in front of the boy with a satisfied gesture. Harry began eating in silence, enjoying the simple comfort of the moment, while the idea of becoming a healer kept growing in his mind. It was only a distant thought, but it felt strangely real and possible.
As he chewed, Harry couldn't help but smile at the thought of Ron and Hermione's reactions. Ron would surely make jokes, accusing him of becoming as studious as Hermione, while she would probably be thrilled and bring him a pile of extra books on the subject. The image of his friends was comforting, making him feel even more certain about that small personal decision.
When he finished the soup, Harry pushed the empty bowl aside and rested his hands on the table, satisfied. Edgar passed by him again, collecting dishes from another table, and glanced at him.
"So, boy? Have you really decided?"
Harry didn't answer right away. He took a few seconds to think before looking at Edgar with a calm expression.
"Yeah… I think so," he replied quietly.
"Good to hear," Edgar nodded, unable to hide a proud smile. "Remember: whatever path you choose, make sure it's always yours."
With that, Edgar walked away, returning to his tasks in the busy pub. Harry carefully picked up the book and stood up slowly, walking toward the stairs to his room. As he climbed the steps, the pleasant murmur of the Leaky Cauldron faded behind him, giving way to a comfortable silence.
Closing the door to his room behind him, Harry felt an unusual lightness in his chest. That feeling—of finally making his own decisions—brought him an unexpected peace. He placed the book on the bedside table and, for a moment, allowed himself to simply exist in that rare, simple tranquility.
For today, he decided, that was enough.
A/N:
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