Chapter 2: Beyond the Bricks

By the next morning, the twins were being ushered off to Diagon Alley to gather their school supplies. Charlie hesitated at the front door, his feet planted stubbornly at the threshold, but Harry stepped forward without a second thought. A part of him still half-expected the Dursleys to snatch this opportunity away from him, and he wasn't about to waste it.

The trip itself felt unreal. Hagrid somehow crammed himself into the back seat of the Dursleys' car, which groaned alarmingly under his weight. Even Vernon, who had spent the better part of the morning shouting about freakish nonsense, had gone rigidly silent behind the wheel. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel as he begrudgingly drove them to London. He never looked back at them, but Harry could practically feel the waves of resentment radiating from him.

Charlie had taken the front seat, which left Harry pressed uncomfortably against the door beside Hagrid. Oddly enough, the car felt strangely bigger than it should have. There was just enough space to make the discomfort bearable. Harry had the creeping suspicion it had something to do with Hagrid and the words he had muttered under his breath when they got in.

"I don't want to be a wizard!" he protested loudly, for what felt like the tenth time, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. "I was supposed to go to Stonewall with my friends! You're ruining everything!"

Harry found this rather ironic, considering Charlie had been complaining about Stonewall just a week ago.

"Nonsense, pure nonsense," Hagrid grumbled, exasperated. "Yer a wizard, an' that's that. Yer parents put both of yer names down for Hogwarts the moment you were born!"

Charlie turned sharply to Vernon.

"Uncle Vernon, do something!" he pleaded, eyes wide and searching their uncle's face for acknowledgment.

Harry remained silent, watching the exchange closely. It was rare to see Charlie this desperate for their uncle's support, rare enough to be worth analyzing. But Vernon didn't answer him. He kept his mouth clamped shut, staring out at the road with a look of that Harry knew well- the one he had right before something bad happened. Harry suspected the only reason he hadn't exploded was the very large, very imposing giant of a man sitting in his backseat deterring any more outbursts.

Once they reached central London, Vernon barely let the car slow before throwing it into park.

"Get out," he ordered through gritted teeth.

Harry had barely stepped onto the curb before Vernon hit the gas and sped off, tires screeching against the pavement. He had to jump back to avoid being hit by the open door. No doubt their uncle was on his way to retrieve Petunia and Dudley, eager to wash his hands of this mess.

"Good riddance," Hagrid muttered, shaking his head. "Right, follow me, lads!"

Hagrid led them briskly through the bustling London streets, weaving effortlessly between crowds of Muggles until they stopped in front of a small, shabby-looking pub wedged between a bookstore and a record shop. It looked completely out of place, like something out of an older century, but what struck Harry most was how no one else seemed to notice it. People walked right past without sparing it a glance. Some even looked directly at the shopfront, only for their eyes to slide away, as if their brains refused to acknowledge its existence.

Harry blinked. "Has this always been here?"

Hagrid grinned.

"O' course! Just hidden from Muggle eyes, it is. The Leaky Cauldron. Best pub this side o' Britain!," he pushed open the door, and a bell jingled overhead as they stepped inside.

The Leaky Cauldron was dimly lit, with wooden beams running across the ceiling and a thick haze of pipe smoke drifting through the air. Witches and wizards sat hunched over their drinks, their hushed conversations filling the room with a low murmur. The moment Hagrid stepped inside, however, all conversation stopped. Heads swiveled toward them. Some people gasped. Others whispered frantically to each other. Before Harry could make sense of it, a small, bald man scurried forward, beaming ear to ear.

"Bless my soul! What an honor!"

Harry stiffened as the man reached for his hand, his personal space suddenly nonexistent. Charlie, who had been trailing behind, lifted his head in confusion.

The pub erupted.

Chairs scraped against the floor as people leapt to their feet. Several hands shot out, eagerly grasping at his own. Others whispered his name in hushed reverence.

"Harry Potter!"

"It's really him!"

"Charlie too, look-"

Harry's throat tightened. It was too much, too fast. The strangers forced handshakes, clapped him on the back, and reached out as if they had to touch him just to prove he was real. His breathing quickened, panic clawing up his chest as he scanned the room for a way out. Even Charlie, who thrived on attention, looked uncomfortable. His eyes darted from one person to another, visibly unnerved by their odd dress and enthusiasm.

"Harry Potter… and Charlie too!" the bald man announced grandly. "My name's Tom, I run the Leaky Cauldron! What a pleasure, what a pleasure indeed!"

A younger man in a purple turban hurried toward them.

"D-D-Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," he stammered as he introduced himself, his gaze darting nervously. "I-I'm P-p-professor Quirrell."

Harry fought down a grimace as the man grabbed his hand. Quirrell's handshake was clammy, hesitant. His eyes lingered on Harry a moment too long before flickering to Charlie. Harry, struggling with the growing number of people pressing all around them. Instinctively, he inched closer to Hagrid. He was still a stranger, but at least he hadn't tried to grab him or gawk at him like some kind of exhibit. Charlie, meanwhile, seemed just as uncomfortable, shifting awkwardly on his feet as the crowd continued despite his usual need to be the center of attention.

Hagrid cleared his throat, cutting through the chaos. "Alright, alright! That's enough gawkin'! The boys got business t' do!"

Murmurs of disappointment rippled through the room, but people stepped aside, letting them pass.

"Why do those…people know who we are?" Charlie asked as the crowd dispersed. Harry was somewhat impressed, it being the first time Charlie had spoken to the man without insulting him or denying magic was real.

"Er, well it's complicated. There's too many ears here," Hagrid said looking around, "I'll tell ya before I take you back to yer muggles."

Harry's stomach dropped, he hadn't realized they had to go back to the Dursleys. The novelty was already wearing off as people continued to point and whisper at them. Now, he found out it wasn't even going to be the escape from the Dursleys he hoped it was.

Hagrid led them toward a small, walled-off courtyard at the back of the pub. He tapped a brick on the wall, and with a deep, rumbling shift of magic, the bricks folded away, revealing the entrance to Diagon Alley. Harry barely had time to breathe before he was thrown into the heart of the wizarding world.

It was unlike anything Harry had ever seen. Shops of every shape and size lined the cobbled streets, their colorful signs swinging gently in the breeze. A nearby apothecary had towers of cauldrons stacked high outside its entrance, their copper and pewter surfaces gleaming in the midday sun. Owls of all sizes and breeds blinked sleepily from perches inside a shopfront, some hooting softly as customers passed by. There were racks of robes swaying in a tailor's window, shelves overflowing with thick, leather-bound spellbooks, and even a shop selling brooms-brooms that hovered just slightly above their stands, as though waiting to be chosen. It was overwhelming, chaotic, and magical. It felt like he belonged here, like it had been waiting for him his entire life.

Charlie, however, had pressed himself close to Hagrid, his expression wary. His eyes darted around the alley, flinching at every unexpected movement-at the sharp-toothed grins of goblins peering from behind Gringotts' glass windows, at the sudden bursts of color from enchanted displays, at the faint pops of unknown origin echoing through the streets. Every moment in this strange, impossible world set him further on edge, as though he were ready to bolt at any second. Hagrid didn't seem to notice Charlie's discomfort, however.

"First stop, Gringotts!" Hagrid announced, steering them toward the massive white building at the far end of the alley.

Harry tilted his head back in awe. Gringotts towered over the rest of Diagon Alley, its marble steps gleaming in the sunlight. Tall bronze doors stood at the entrance, flanked by goblins in scarlet and gold uniforms. He strained his neck to read the inscription at the entrance.

Enter, stranger, but take heed Of what awaits the sin of greed, For those who take but do not earn, Must pay most dearly in their turn…

Harry read it twice, the warning settling in his mind. He swore to himself to not take Gringotts or its staff lightly.

"Bit dramatic, don't ya think?" Charlie muttered.

"Wouldn't cross a Gringotts goblin," Hagrid said gruffly. "No safer place fer gold, 'cept maybe Hogwarts. Course, if anyone tried to break in, they'd be lucky to make it out in one piece."

Charlie stiffened at that, eyeing the goblins as if expecting one to lunge at him at any moment.

Inside, the bank was even grander than it looked from the outside. The marble floors gleamed under candlelight, stretching endlessly toward the long counters, where dozens of goblins sat atop high stools, their long fingers skimming through ledgers and gold scales. The walls were lined with thick iron doors, leading to the underground vaults.

"Vault seven hundred and thirteen," Hagrid muttered to a goblin at the front desk.

"Dumbledore's orders. But first-" he clapped Harry and Charlie on the shoulders, "-we need ter stop by the Potter vaults."

The goblin nodded and summoned Griphook, a wiry goblin with sharp eyes and a sharper grin.

"Follow me," he said briskly.

They were led through a passageway to a set of narrow mine carts.

Charlie visibly hesitated. "You want us to ride those?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What, scared?"

"No!" Charlie scowled, clearly annoyed. He climbed in stiffly beside Hagrid while Harry slipped into the seat next to Griphook.

The cart lurched forward-and then plummeted downward at breakneck speed. Wind whipped through Harry's hair, his stomach flipping as the cart sped through twisting tunnels and impossibly steep drops. Cold air rushed past him, the flickering glow of enchanted torches casting long shadows along the walls. At one point, Harry swore he saw a dragon chained deep within the vaults, its scales glistening in the low light.

Charlie, however, had gone deathly pale, gripping the sides of the cart so hard his knuckles turned white.

"Th-this is insane!" he shouted over the roaring wind.

Griphook smirked but said nothing, his sharp eyes glinting with private amusement as the cart screeched to a halt. The momentum sent a jolt through Harry's spine, and beside him, Hagrid let out a weak noise that might have been a groan or a plea for mercy. They had stopped in front of two identical vault doors that were marked with elegant symbols. Cold air radiated off the stone and prickled against Harry's skin.

Hagrid looked like he was going to be sick. His face had gone a shade between seafoam and forest green.

"Er, go on without me, boys," Hagrid muttered, clutching the side of the cart. "I'll... just stay 'ere."

Griphook gave a curt nod and stepped forward. With one long, curved nail, he dragged a line down the first vault door. The runes flared briefly, then the door shuddered and creaked open on ancient hinges, groaning like it hadn't been touched in years.

"Charlie Potter's vault," Griphook announced, consulting a sheet of aged parchment. "I'll escort you."

"I don't need your help, creature," Charlie snapped, already stepping past the threshold.

Griphook's expression darkened. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He stepped aside to let Charlie pass.

Harry flinched at the sharpness in his brother's tone, the way it sliced through the silence like a curse. He glanced at Charlie's back as it disappeared into the vault. He carried himself with a deep sense of entitlement and it showed.

Griphook turned to the second door. Another clawed stroke, another pulse of old magic, and the lock gave way with a low hiss. The vault creaked open. Griphook looked back at Harry expectantly.

Harry hesitated. His palms were clammy, heart hammering a little too fast. The warning from the entrance from before rang in his head. He didn't know if there were any hidden rules to the bank. What if he touched the wrong thing and sudden was trapped forever?

"Do you mind coming with me?" he asked quietly, tugging at the edge of his sleeve. "I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to do."

Griphook inclined his head once, sharp and efficient.

"Follow me."

They stepped into the vault together. The moment Harry crossed the threshold, the air changed. It was cooler here then it was outside of the vault. The walls were lined with shelves and inset compartments, all of them stacked with neat rows of gleaming coins. Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts reflected the flickering vault light in warm, soft hues.

Harry's breath caught in his throat. For the first time in his life, he stood in a place where everything around him was his and only his. He reached out and let his fingers brush the edge of a stack of Galleons. The gold was warm beneath his skin. It didn't feel real.

He tried to calculate the value, recalling the rushed money lesson Hagrid had given them on the way to the bank but the numbers blurred together. He had no real frame of reference. The coins before him could have been a fortune or just enough to scrape by. He pulled his supply list from his pocket and frowned. He had no idea how much all of this might cost. He wondered idly if he would be able to get a job in the wizarding world to get school money if he needed to. His relatives certainly wouldn't be paying for anything magic.

"Mr. Griphook," Harry said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Will this be enough to last me through school?"

The goblin did not answer right away. He studied Harry for a long moment, long enough that Harry began to fidget. Then, without a word, Griphook pulled a thick ledger from the shelf near the door, opened it with care, and began flipping through its heavy pages.

"Your parents liquidated most of their assets during the war," Griphook explained. "The money was evenly divided between the two vaults. They were considered very wealthy-so even half their fortune could last a lifetime if spent wisely. Not that I trust wizards to do such a thing."

His lips curled into a sharp grin.

"There is also a family vault containing heirlooms and other priceless valuables," he continued. "As the older twin, it is yours to claim upon adulthood. Whether you grant your brother access is entirely up to you."

Harry tucked that information away for later, nodding in understanding. He had a feeling that Griphook didn't like Charlie very much, and Harry didn't blame him one bit.

"Thank you," he said, meaning it. "That was valuable information."

The goblin's eyes narrowed slightly.

"You're a strange one. No wizard ever bothers to remember a goblin's name, let alone thank them."

Harry smirked. "Don't bite the hand that feeds you?"

Griphook frowned. "I do not understand."

"It's a Muggle saying," Harry explained. "In this case, it means don't be rude to the people handling your money."

Griphook tilted his head, considering this.

After a moment, he gave a sharp nod. "Hmph. Perhaps there's hope for you yet, Potter."

Charlie emerged from his own vault, stuffing a few handfuls of gold into his bag. His expression soured when he saw Harry speaking with Griphook.

"What were you talking about?" he asked, suspicious.

Harry shrugged. "Just making sure I don't run out of money halfway through school. I don't get an allowance, and I'm fairly sure the Dursleys won't be purchasing our school supplies."

Charlie's brows furrowed, a flicker of irritation crossing his face-like he should have thought to ask that question first.

"Right, that's enough dawdlin'. Plenty ter buy!" Hagrid clapped them both on the back, slipping a small brown parcel into his pocket as he walked back to the cart with another goblin. His color seemed better, if only slightly. Harry looked at the parcel with slight curiosity wondering what could have been inside. Hagrid looked at him noticing his interest.

"Tha's between me an' the Headmaster," he said, with a wink.

Their next stop was Flourish and Blotts, where towering bookshelves stretched toward the ceiling, stacked so high that a few even required floating ladders to access. The shop smelled of ink, parchment, and old paper, an intoxicating mix that instantly captivated Harry. Harry wandered through the aisles in fascination, running his fingers along the spines of the neatly arranged books. He had never seen so many books in one place-not outside of a library, at least.

"And they're mine to own," he realized with a thrill. He had been so excited he hadn't even noticed he had spoken aloud.

His eyes skimmed over the various titles, each more interesting than the last:

The Standard Book of Spells, Year One
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration
Household Charms for the Self-Sufficient Witch
Curses and Hexes That Will Break Your Enemies

He paused at the last one, fingers hovering over the spine. Probably not on the school list, he mused, but he still snuck a glance at the first page before Hagrid nudged him forward.

"Don' be wastin' all yer gold on books now, Harry," Hagrid chuckled, watching the way Harry practically vibrated with excitement as he picked up one book after another. "Yeh need ter save some for yer other supplies."

Harry ignored him though. He could hardly contain himself-he had never owned his own books before. Back at school, the library had been his only refuge, and even then, Dudley and his gang often made sure he barely had time to read before they found new ways to torment him. Now, he could buy as many as he wanted.

Charlie, however, had barely skimmed the covers, his bored expression making it clear that he had little to no interest in books. He slouched by the door, waiting impatiently for Harry to finish.

"It's just a bunch of schoolbooks," Charlie muttered when Harry finally rejoined him at the counter, arms full of books.

Harry barely spared him a glance, too busy shifting through his purchases, already eager to read through them. He had a lot to learn about the strange new world he found himself in.

Their next stop was Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, a tidy little shop lined with bolts of fabric and mannequins dressed in robes that shimmered softly in the light. Hagrid stopped just short of the doorway, glancing inside with an apologetic wince.

"Reckon I'll sit this one out," he said, scratching his beard. "Wouldn't fit too well in there, an' I'd only be in the way. I'll be just outside when yer done."

As soon as they stepped inside, a plump witch in mauve robes bustled toward them, her smile bright and practiced. A stitched nametag gleamed on her chest, Madam Malkin.

"Hogwarts, dearies?" she asked cheerfully.

"Yes," Harry replied with a nod.

Her gaze shifted from Harry's baggy shirt and oversized trousers to Charlie, eyes narrowing slightly as she looked between them. Harry shrank under her scrutiny, his shoulders curling inward.

"Thelma, take the taller one," Madam Malkin said briskly. Another witch appeared at once and ushered Charlie toward a side room. Charlie glanced back at Harry, looking alarmed, as if asking him to intervene. Harry chose not to meet his eyes.

"Now, let's get you into something proper," Madam Malkin said, turning her attention to Harry. "I can't fit you properly in... that."

She trailed off, searching for a word and coming up short. Her tone softened. She clearly didn't want to be cruel.

"Sorry," Harry murmured.

"No worries, dear," she said kindly. She flicked her wand, and a neat bundle of clothing hovered toward her from a high shelf. She caught it with ease and handed it to him. "Here we are. Try these on so I can see what we're working with."

Harry eyed the bundle suspiciously. He caught a flicker of something in her expression, hesitation or maybe judgment, and his chest tightened.

"I have money," he blurted, defensive. "I can pay."

It wouldn't be the first time someone assumed he couldn't. He had been chased out of more shops in Privet Drive than he cared to admit. Madam Malkin paused. Then her face softened into something warmer, almost wistful.

"You're the spitting image of your father," she said with a sigh. "I know you can pay. The Potters were good people. Honest. Generous."

The words struck something unfamiliar in Harry. Apparently, she had known and trusted his father and by association trusted him. The thought sat strangely in his chest. He gave a small nod and took the clothes without another word. The fabric was soft, and when he tried them on, the fit was surprisingly close considering she had never asked his size- not that he knew what size was proper for him. They were slightly large for him but felt perfectly fit compared to what he had been wearing before.

"Much better," Madam Malkin said approvingly as he stepped out. She eyed the hems of the shirt and trousers and clicked her tongue, "You're rather small for your age. Make sure you eat your vegetables. They're important for every growing wizard."

Harry didn't respond. She guided him toward a raised fitting stool without waiting for an answer. A pale haired boy was already standing on the next stool over, arms held out stiffly as a tape measure floated around him. He turned at the sound of Harry's footsteps.

"Hello," the boy greeted with an air of casual arrogance, his light gray eyes flicking over Harry with interest. "Hogwarts too?"

Harry nodded, trying not to fidget under the scrutiny. The boy barely hesitated before launching into a one-sided conversation about Hogwarts, Quidditch, and the importance of house placements. Harry struggled to keep up at all the new information being dumped on him.

"What house do you think you'll be in?" the boy asked, watching Harry closely. "I bet I'll end up in Slytherin-my whole family has been. Best house, really. What about your parents?"

Harry stiffened slightly at the question. "Not sure. They're dead."

The boy's mouth parted slightly, his expression flickering between awkwardness and mild surprise before he forced out a quick, "Oh. Sorry."

"It's fine. I never knew them," Harry shrugged, keeping his voice neutral.

A heavy silence settled between them as the tailors continued their work on the blonde. The boy, clearly not used to uncomfortable pauses, shifted on his stool before speaking again.

"They were… you know, one of our kind, right?" His eyes narrowed slightly, scanning Harry as though trying to confirm it for himself.

Harry was suddenly grateful that he was in the new clothes Malkin had provided to him rather than Dudley's baggy hand-me-downs.

"Yeah," he cautiously replied.

The blonde studied him for a moment before his posture relaxed slightly.

"Draco Malfoy," he finally introduced himself, extending a hand as the tailors finished pinning his robes.

"Harry," he replied simply, deliberately leaving off his last name. He had already seen the chaos his name caused back at the Leaky Cauldron-he wasn't eager to repeat the experience. Malfoy's eyes narrowed slightly, as if expecting more. The conversation was interrupted by the seamstress working on Malfoy had stated they were finished.

"I suppose I'll see you at Hogwarts?" Malfoy asked as he stepped down from the stool.

Harry gave a noncommittal shrug. Charlie, who had been in another fitting room, joined him a moment later, barely sparing Malfoy a glance.

As the blonde left the store and stepped outside, Charlie finally spoke. "Who was that?"

"Some kid named Malfoy," Harry replied.

Charlie scoffed. "Seemed full of himself."

Harry didn't disagree, but he found himself mulling over the conversation, nonetheless. Malfoy had said something interesting-something that lingered in his mind even as they continued their shopping. Best house, really.

Later, as they sat outside Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, taking a much-needed break from the weight of their shopping bags, Hagrid handed them each an ice cream cone.

Charlie muttered a barely audible thanks, while Harry took his eagerly, savoring the rare sweet. He tried to focus his attention on the frozen treat, though it was fleeting. His mind was still spinning from everything he had seen so far. He watched as a gaggle of witches walked by, complaining about the price of salamander stomachs.

Then, as if a heavy thought had suddenly occurred to him, Hagrid's expression darkened. The lighthearted atmosphere evaporated in an instant.

"There's somethin' I shoulda told ya back at the shack," he began, his voice suddenly serious, "but I didn't get the chance."

Harry lowered his ice cream, sensing the shift. "What do you mean?"

Charlie frowned, his irritation briefly giving way to unease. "Yeah, what?"

Hagrid shifted uncomfortably, his massive hands gripping his knees, as if bracing himself for a difficult conversation. "It's about yer parents."

Harry felt his stomach twist.

Hagrid's expression hardened. His usual warmth had vanished, replaced with a look that screamed of grief, "Yer parents didn't die in no car crash."

There was a long pause, heavy and expectant. Harry leaned forward, his ice cream forgotten.

"They were murdered," Hagrid finally said, dropping his head.

Harry froze, his fingers tightening around his cone. He was certain he had misheard.

Charlie, who had been lounging back in his chair, suddenly sat bolt upright. "What?"

Hagrid's dark eyes burned with emotion as he continued.

"Murdered. By the darkest wizard who ever lived," he said grimly. "You-Know-Who."

Harry blinked. Of all the strange names he had heard that day, that was easily the strangest.

"Who?" he asked, confused.

Hagrid let out a heavy sigh, rubbing a large hand down his face.

We don'… say his name," Hagrid said gruffly. "Most folk're too scared, yeh see. He was evil, proper evil. Killed anyone who got in his way. Went after yer mum an' dad, an' no one knows why. But when he tried ter get you too… summat happened."

Harry and Charlie exchanged a stunned glance, but Hagrid pressed on.

"He couldn't do it," Hagrid said simply. "The spell-the Killing Curse-it backfired. No one knows how. No one's ever survived it before. But you two… you did."

Charlie's hands clenched into fists on the table, "But that doesn't make sense! Why would he go after us?"

Hagrid shook his head.

"There was a war goin' on back then," he explained, voice thick with emotion. "A war between You-Know-Who an' those who fought against 'im. He had followers-people who believed in 'is ideas, people who wanted power. An' yer parents-Lily an' James-they stood against 'im."

Charlie's breath hitched.

"We lost a lotta good witches an' wizards," Hagrid continued solemnly. "An' when You-Know-Who found yer parents' hidin' place… well."

His voice faltered. He didn't need to say it. Harry's stomach twisted violently. This new world was proving to be dangerous, and apparently it had already tried to kill him once.

"All this time," Harry murmured, staring at the cobblestone street, barely noticing how his grip on his ice cream had tightened. "All this time, Petunia-she lied."

"Them muggles were lyin' 'bout loads o' things," Hagrid muttered darkly, scowling at the thought of the Dursleys.

Harry could barely believe his ears. He had spent years believing he was nothing. That his parents were nobodies who had left him behind. But that wasn't true. They had fought for something. Died for something. And the Dursleys had erased them. Harry's fingers absently traced the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead. He had always hated it. But now… now he knew what it was. A mark of survival.

Charlie, meanwhile, was trembling, his mind clearly struggling to process it all.

Their ice cream was now melting in the summer warmth. A heavy silence had settled between them, thick and suffocating. Hagrid shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. He glanced between the twins, his expression unreadable. Neither of them spoke. Charlie stared blankly ahead, his hands curled into fists against the table. His face was pale, his normally sharp expressions dulled by a dazed sort of disbelief. Harry, on the other hand, was deep in thought, absentmindedly tracing the edge of his scar. The war. The wizard who had tried to kill them. The words kept cycling through his mind, but they didn't quite settle into place. Why them?

Hagrid cleared his throat.

"Right, no sense sittin' 'round mopin'," he said, standing up with a grunt. "Still need to get yer wands. Can't be doin' magic without wands, can ya?"

He tapped his bright pink umbrella against the table before tucking it under his arm.

Harry's brow furrowed. He'd seen plenty of wands throughout Diagon Alley-displayed in store windows, clasped in the hands of passing witches and wizards-but never one disguised as an umbrella. Charlie, however, was too lost in his own thoughts to question it. He muttered something under his breath and shoved his hands into his pockets as they trailed after Hagrid.

The sign above the shop read in old-fashion script.

Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 B.C.

The shop was narrow, cramped, and filled with the scent of polished wood and dust. Tall shelves loomed overhead, stacked to the ceiling with thousands of thin, unmarked boxes. A single rickety ladder leaned against the wall, as if it hadn't moved in centuries.

A soft rustling from the shadows made Harry's skin prickle. Then, as if appearing from thin air, a thin, silver-haired man emerged from behind one of the shelves.

"Ah," he murmured, pale eyes glinting as they landed on the twins. "Mr. Potter… and Mr. Potter."

Charlie visibly flinched, while Harry simply stared.

"I've been expecting you both."

Before either of them could question what that meant, Ollivander swept toward them with surprising speed. He wasted no time in sizing them up, muttering to himself as he examined their hands, their arms, even the way they stood.

"Let's see…" he said, drifting toward the towering shelves. "Which will choose you?"

The process for Charlie was shockingly quick.

Ollivander plucked a long, slender box from one of the middle shelves and placed it in Charlie's hand without hesitation.

"Willow, eleven inches, unicorn hair," he declared, watching closely as Charlie gave it an obligatory wave. A faint shimmer of light trailed from the tip. The wand had chosen.

Charlie barely glanced at it before stuffing it back into the box, his expression unreadable.

"Curious," Ollivander murmured, frowning deeply, but said nothing more as he turned toward Harry.

Harry, however, was having a much harder time. Each wand he picked up rejected him almost instantly. The first sent a burst of sparks that shattered a nearby lamp. The second released a gust of wind so strong that several wand boxes tumbled off their shelves. The third actually caught fire in his hands. Instead of growing frustrated, Ollivander seemed delighted.

"Fascinating," he whispered, darting between shelves with the energy of a man half his age. "Very fascinating. Tricky customer, tricky indeed…"

Harry watched him disappear into the shadowy back room, only to return with a small, sleek box in hand.

"Perhaps…" Ollivander trailed off, his pale eyes gleaming. "One of my finest."

He lifted the lid, revealing a polished holly wand, its surface smooth and rich in color.

"Eleven inches," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "Holly and phoenix feather. Go on-give it a wave."

The moment Harry's fingers wrapped around the wood, warmth spread through his palm, sending a pleasant hum of energy coursing through his veins. It felt… right. He gave it a careful flick. The books stacked on the far shelf lifted effortlessly into the air, hovering gracefully for a moment before settling back down in perfect order. Ollivander clapped his hands together.

"Ah! That's the one!"

Charlie frowned. "What's so curious about it?"

Ollivander's smile faded slightly. His gaze flickered between them before he stepped closer, lowering his voice.

"Your twin's wand has a brother," he murmured.

Harry's grip on the wand tightened. "What?"

"The phoenix whose feather resides in your wand, Mr. Potter," Ollivander said, his tone grave, "gave only one other."

A heavy silence filled the shop.

Charlie shifted uneasily, glancing at Harry. "And?"

Ollivander studied them both for a long moment. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said:

"And that wand… was the one that gave you both your scars."

The words hit like a hammer.

Harry's breath hitched.

Charlie took a step back, as if trying to physically distance himself from the thought.

Ollivander, seemingly oblivious to their reactions, turned away and began scribbling furiously in a battered old ledger. He muttered something under his breath, running a long, thin finger down the pages as if searching for a specific note. Neither twin moved. A cold sensation crept up Harry's spine. He glanced down at the wand still resting in his grip, his mind racing. Why had it chosen him?

Ollivander muttered to himself, his long fingers trembling ever so slightly as he wrote.

"Strange… very strange. I wonder-" but then he stopped, shaking his head. He closed the ledger abruptly and looked back at them, eyes sharp. "Curious indeed."

Harry quickly placed the required coins on the counter and turned toward the door.

"C'mon," he muttered to Charlie, not wanting to linger.

Charlie hesitated, casting one last glance at Ollivander still lost in his notes, before following after Harry.

As soon as they stepped out into the sunlight, Charlie let out a sharp exhale, as if he had been holding his breath the entire time.

"What the bloody hell was that about?" he muttered, rubbing at his arm.

Harry didn't answer. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. As they stepped out of Ollivanders, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the cobbled street. The weight of their new wands hung heavy in their pockets, a tangible reminder of everything that had changed in just a single day. Before they could dwell on it for too long, they were met by Hagrid, standing just outside the magical menagerie. He was grinning, holding up two cages, his massive hands dwarfing them completely.

"'appy Birthday!" Hagrid bellowed, his voice warm with pride as he thrust the cages toward them. "Saw ya lookin' at these two earlier an' figured you oughta have 'em. Hogwarts students always need a good pet!"

Harry blinked in surprise, hesitating for only a second before carefully taking the cage from Hagrid's hands. Inside, perched gracefully on a wooden bar, was a stunning snowy owl. Her feathers were a pristine white, speckled lightly with gray, and her amber eyes gleamed with keen intelligence as she regarded him in silence. She tilted her head slightly, as if appraising him, then gave a soft hoot.

Harry had never been given a gift before. Not once. And now, he was being handed something so… wonderful.

He swallowed the lump forming in his throat, "She's brilliant, Hagrid."

Hagrid beamed. "Smart, too. Best get yerself familiar with her-owls are dead useful. Deliver letters and such."

Harry glanced at Charlie, who had just lifted the lid of his own cage. Inside was a small, sleek white kitten, its paws tipped with delicate gray fur. It mewed softly, blinking up at Charlie with wide blue eyes.

Charlie, however, didn't look nearly as pleased.

"A cat?" His brows furrowed. "Why would I need a cat?"

Hagrid's grin didn't falter. "Figured you'd like 'im! Cats make good companions, keep the mice away. They get on well with magical folk."

Charlie scowled but didn't argue, instead tucking the cage under his arm.

"Fine, whatever," he muttered.

"Well, what're ya waitin' for? Go on, name 'em!" Hagrid prompted.

Harry stared at his owl, the name coming to him almost instantly as if it were destiny. He had seen it earlier in one of the books at the shop before Hagrid had to almost physically drag him to pay so they could leave.

"Hedwig," he murmured. The owl hooted in approval, as if the name pleased her.

Charlie eyed the kitten for a long moment before sighing.

"Storm," he said, though his tone lacked any real enthusiasm.

Hagrid clapped them both on the back. "Good choices, both o' ya!"

Despite himself, Harry smiled, watching as Hedwig blinked serenely at him. For the first time all day, something felt truly right.

Their return to Privet Drive was unceremonious albeit long using the public transit system.

Petunia barely spared Harry a glance, instead pulling Charlie inside the moment she saw him.

"Come in, quickly! We don't want the neighbors seeing-" she stopped mid-sentence, her lips pursing as she spotted the kitten tucked in Charlie's arms. "What is that?"

"A cat," Charlie grumbled, brushing past her into the house. Petunia's expression darkened, but she quickly masked it, smoothing down her apron as she followed him.

"Aunt Petunia, I don't want to go to this school," Charlie burst out suddenly, his frustration bubbling over. "These people are weird! I heard some old witches talking about dragons!"

"I don't want to be stuck with a bunch of freaks," he flopped onto the couch, arms crossed.

Petunia's gaze softened instantly. She sat beside him, running a gentle hand through his hair.

"I know, darling," she murmured, her voice soothing over as Charlie leaned into her, "I know but you have to go. It's not your fault your brother infected you with this nonsense."

Her fingers curled slightly, as if gripping onto something unseen, "We should have never taken him in."

Harry, standing unnoticed in the doorway, stiffened. The words should have stung, but they didn't. Not anymore. Without a word, he turned and climbed the stairs, Hedwig's cage in hand. Harry carefully unlatched the door, stepping back as Hedwig flapped her wings and took her first stretch of freedom. She perched on the edge of his desk, surveying the small, box-like room before fixing her sharp gaze on him.

"You're free to come and go," he told her softly. "Not much keeping you here."

Hedwig let out a soft hoot, tilting her head as if disagreeing. Then, she fluffed her feathers and nestled herself down, clearly making herself comfortable. A sharp noise from the door made him glance up.

Charlie had entered the room, his expression sour. His kitten was cradled in his arms, small enough to fit comfortably against his chest. His eyes darted to Hedwig, and his scowl deepened.

"That beast better not hurt Storm," he snapped.

Harry met his glare with an even one of his own. It seemed Charlie had already rethought his previous annoyance at his gift.

"Owls eat rodents not cats," he replied coolly.

Charlie huffed, muttering something under his breath as he flopped onto his bed. Harry turned back to Hedwig, who ruffled her feathers and tucked her head under her wing, settling in for the night. He picked up one of his new books and flipped it open, his back turned to Charlie.

Whatever names Charlie wanted to call him didn't matter anymore.

Because now, freak applied to him too.

Author's Note: I do not support JK Rowling or any of her views. Thank you for reading!