The Departure.
The day Professor McGonagall arrived was the first day Harry had ever felt like he truly belonged to something. The nuns had gathered in the main chapel, their quiet murmurs filling the air as they sat in rows of wooden pews, waiting for something that Harry couldn’t quite put into words. They hadn’t seen McGonagall yet, but the moment she entered, something shifted in the room.
Her sharp, no-nonsense demeanor was different from what Harry had expected from someone who was supposed to be so important. But even so, there was a cool authority about her that made the nuns sit a little straighter. Harry watched from the back of the chapel, his heart pounding in his chest.
McGonagall’s eyes scanned the room briefly, then settled on him. A small nod, almost imperceptible, was all she gave him before she turned toward Sister Maria and the other nuns.
“Good afternoon,” Professor McGonagall said, her voice firm, but polite. “I’m Professor Minerva McGonagall, and I’ve come to discuss young Harry’s future.”
Sister Maria rose to meet her. There was a brief moment of silence before she spoke, her voice as gentle as always but filled with suspicion. “We were under the impression Harry was remaining with us.”
“Ah, yes,” McGonagall replied smoothly, “But Harry is a special case. I’m here to inform you that he’s been accepted into an exclusive, private institution that specializes in students of exceptional talent. A school for young minds who require a more individualized education.”
Sister Maria blinked at her, unsure of how to respond. McGonagall’s words were polished and assured, and her presence commanded respect. The other nuns murmured softly in approval, clearly reassured by the professor’s demeanor.
“I understand,” Sister Maria said after a long pause, her tone still cautious but softened by McGonagall’s confidence. “You’re a respectable woman, Professor. If you believe this is what’s best for Harry, we will, of course, trust your judgment. He will be in good hands.”
“Thank you,” McGonagall said with a slight smile. She turned to Harry, her eyes softening for a moment before she spoke again. “Harry, we’re going to get you all the things you need for your new school. You’ll be starting soon, and we’ll have much to prepare.”
The air felt different now. Lighter. Harry stood and stepped forward, his heart still beating quickly, but for the first time in a long while, it felt like it was beating for a reason.
“I’ll just go gather my things,” he said quietly, glancing at McGonagall.
McGonagall’s smile was small, but there was a knowing gleam in her eyes.
“Of course, Harry. I’ll wait for you at the entrance.”
By the time they reached the bustling streets of Diagon Alley, Harry could hardly believe where he was. The sound of horses’ hooves clattered against the cobblestones, the smell of fresh bread and magical sweets filled the air, and colorful banners swirled with magic above the shops. It was like stepping into another world, one that didn’t have room for the empty, silent halls of the church he had called home for so long.
McGonagall led the way through the alley, her tall figure cutting through the crowd with ease. Harry could only watch, wide-eyed and silent. Everything felt alive, from the brightly colored storefronts to the chatter of witches and wizards around them.
They reached a tall, narrow shop with the words Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. etched in gold letters above the door.
“Here we are,” McGonagall said.
Harry’s breath caught in his throat. This was it. This was the moment everything would change.
Inside, the air smelled of wood and dust, the shelves lined with boxes of every shape and size. Ollivander himself, a thin, pale man with silver eyes, stepped out from behind the counter.
“Ah, Mr. Potter,” Ollivander said, his voice like a whisper. “I’ve been expecting you.”
Harry gave a small, nervous smile. He wasn’t sure what to expect. McGonagall had explained some things on the way here, but he still didn’t understand why a wand was so important.
“Let’s get started,” Ollivander continued, leading Harry to the counter. “Now, let’s see what will suit you.”
The whole process felt like a blur—Ollivander passing wand after wand to Harry, his fingers trembling slightly as he held each one. They were all wrong. Each one caused a spark of magic that fizzled out in disappointment.
Harry was starting to feel a little discouraged when Ollivander pulled out a narrow, almost delicate-looking wand.
“Try this one, Mr. Potter,” Ollivander said softly. “Eleven inches, holly, with a phoenix feather core.”
Harry took it hesitantly, then raised it. The moment he did, the room seemed to hum, a quiet energy flowing through him that he couldn’t quite explain. A warm light flickered from the tip of the wand, and the shelves around him trembled slightly.
“Ah,” Ollivander murmured. “I knew it.”
He smiled, a glint of something ancient in his eyes. “That is the one for you, Mr. Potter. It has chosen you.”
Harry stared at the wand in his hand, feeling something deep inside him shift.
McGonagall, who had been watching with a soft smile, gave a small nod of approval.
“Now, Harry,” she said, “we have more shopping to do.”
The rest of the day passed in a blur—new clothes, books, and all the things Harry hadn’t known he would need for school. It felt overwhelming, but exhilarating all the same. With every new purchase, the reality of leaving the church behind seemed a little more real.
As the sun began to set, Harry couldn’t help but glance back at the towering buildings of Diagon Alley. For the first time in his life, he felt a sense of belonging. A sense of purpose.
And for the first time, Harry felt like he was finally going home.