Diagon Alley
Harry woke up slowly at first, eyes adjusting to the light shining through his eyelids. Although he could tell it was time to wake up, he kept his eyes shut tight.
“It was a dream,”he told himself firmly. “I dreamed a giant called Hagrid came to tell me I was going to a school for wizards. When I open my eyes I'll be in my cupboard.”
There was suddenly a loud tapping noise.
“And there’s Aunt Petunia knocking on the door,” Harry thought, his heart sinking. But he still didn't open his eyes. It had been such a good dream, did he have to end it now?
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“All right,” Harry mumbled, “I’m getting up.”
He sat up and Hagrid’s heavy coat fell off him. The hut was full of sunlight, the storm was over, Hagrid himself was asleep on the collapsed sofa and there was an owl rapping its claws at the only window with a piece of the old paper missing. There seemed to be a newspaper in its beak.
Harry scrambled to his feet, so happy he felt as though his chest was developing a cramp. He went straight to the window and jerked it open. The owl swooped in and dropped the newspaper on top of Hagrid, who didn’t wake up. The owl then fluttered on to the floor and began to attack Hagrid’s coat.
“Don't do that.”
Harry tried to wave the owl out of the way, but it snapped its beak fiercely at him and carried on savaging the coat.
‘Hagrid!” said Harry loudly. “There’s an owl–”
“Pay him,” Hagrid grunted into the sofa.
“What?”
“He wants payin’ fer deliverin’ the paper. Look in the pockets.”
Hagrid’s coat seemed to be made of nothing but pockets – bunches of keys, random pellets, balls of string, mint humbugs, tea bags… finally Harry pulled out a handful of strange looking coins.
“Give him five Knuts,” said Hagrid sleepily.
“Knuts?”
“The little bronze ones.”
Harry counted out five of the little bronze coins and the owl held out its leg so he could put the money into a small leather pouch tied to it. Then it flew off through the open window.
Hagrid yawned loudly, sat up and stretched.
“Best be off, Harry, lots ter do today, gotta get up ter London an’ buy all yer stuff fer school.”
Harry was turning over the wizard coins and looking at them. He had just thought of something which made the happiness in his chest drop suddenly to his stomach in dread.
“Um, Hagrid?”
“Mm?” said Hagrid, who was pulling on his huge boots.
“I haven't got any money – and you heard Uncle Vernon last night – he won’t pay for me to go and learn magic.”
“Don't worry about that,” said Hagrid, standing up and scratching his head. “D’yeh think yer parents didn't leave yeh anything?”
“But if their house was destroyed–”
“They didn’ keep their gold in the house! Nah, first stop fer us is Gringotts. Wizards’ bank. Have a sausage, they're not bad cold – an’ I wouldn't say no ter a bit o’ yeh birthday cake, neither.”
“Wizards have their own banks?”
“Just the one. Gringotts. Run by goblins.”
Harry paused, mouth open, sausage halfway to his mouth.
“Gobins?”
“Yeah – so yeh’d be mad ter try an’ rob it, I’ll tell yeh that. Never mess with Goblins, Harry. Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yer want ter keep safe – ‘cept maybe Hogwarts. As a matter o’ fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway. Fer Dumbledore. Hogwarts business.” Hagrid drew himself up proudly. “He usually gets me ter do important stuff fer him. Fetchin’ you – gettin’ things from Gringotts – knows he can trust me, see.
“Got everythin’? Come on then.”
Harry grabbed his backpack, barely half filled with all of his belongings and followed Hagrid outside of the hut. The sky was bright and clear now. Harry looked up at the tree tops and the golden yellow light that spilled between them. It was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.
“How did you get here?”
“Flew.”
“Flew?”
“Aye, but we’ll be riding back. Not supposed to be using magic now I’ve got yeh..”
“Riding on what?”
Hagrid didn't answer and instead walked Harry to the other end of the car. Behind it was a large motorbike with a sidecar. Harry’s mouth fell open in amazement.
“I’ve never seen one of these before.”
They settled on to the bike, Harry climbing into the sidecar and putting his back at his feet. Harry stared at Hagrid, trying to imagine him flying.
“Seems a shame to have ter navigate this forest though…” said Hagrid, giving Harry another of his sideway looks. “If I was ter – er – make our journey a bit smoother, would yeh mind not mentionin’ it at Hogwarts?”
“Of course not,” said Harry, eager to see more magic. Hagrid pulled out the pink umbrella again, tapped it on the side of the motorbike and the engine roared to life. Being driven by magic, they began to make their way through the forest at a gentle pace.
“Woah,” Harry whispered.
Hagrid deemed it safe enough to unfold his newspaper so Harry dared a question.
“Why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?”
“Spells – enchantments,” Hagrid replied, not turning from his paper. “They say there’s dragons guardin’ the high security vaults. And then yeh gotta find yer way – Gringotts is hundreds of miles under London, see. Deep under the Underground. Yeh’d die of hunger tryin’ ter get out, even if yeh did manage ter get yer hands on summat.”
Harry sat and thought about this while Hagrid read his newspaper, the Daily Prophet. Harry had learnt from Uncle Vernon that people liked to be left alone while they did this, but it was very difficult, he’s never had so many questions in his life.
“Ministry o’ Magic messin’ things up as usual,” Hagrid muttered, turning the page.
“There’s a Ministry of Magic?” Harry asked, before he could stop himself.
“‘Course,” said Hagrid. “They want Dumbledore fer Minister o’ course, but he’d never leave Hogwarts, so old Cornelius Fudge got the job. Bungler if ever there was one. So he pelts Dumbledore with owls every morning, askin’ fer advice.”
“But what does the Ministry of Magic do?”
“Well, their main job is to keep it from the Muggles that there’s still witches an’ wizards up an’ down the country.”
“Why?” Although Harry suspected the reason based on his aunt and uncle’s... opinions.
“Why? Blimey, Harry, everyone’d be wantin’ magic solutions to their problems. Nah, we’re best left alone.”
Harry couldn't help but feel a little off about the response. Is that really the only reason? Surely if there was a solution for things that people haven’t thought of, it should be shared.
At this moment, the motorbike slowed down to a stop as they reached the edge of the forest and to the main roads. Hagrid folded up his paper. “Right, Harry, hang tight, I’ll get us there in no time. Goggles down.”
After around half an hour of driving, at a speed that seemed much faster than normal, they reached the local city centre. Hagrid parked the motorbike and they began their walk to the station. Passers-by stared a lot at Hagrid as they walked. Harry couldn't blame them. Not only was Hagrid twice as tall as anyone else, he kept pointing at perfectly ordinary things like parking metres and saying loudly: “See that, Harry? Things these Muggles dream up, eh?”
“Hagrid,” said Harry, panting a bit as he ran to keep up, “Did you say there were dragons at Gringotts?”
“Well, so they say, makes sense for a few breeds to hoard,” said Hagrid. “Crikey, I’d like a dragon.”
“You’d like one?”
“Wanted one ever since I was a kid – here we go.”
They had reached the station. There was a train to London in five minutes’ time. Hagrid, who didn’t understand ‘Muggle money’, as he called it, gave the notes to Harry so he could buy their tickets.
People stared more than ever on the train. Hagrid took up two seats and sat knitting what looked like a canary-yellow circus tent.
“Still got yer letter, Harry?” he asked as he counted stitches.
Harry took the parchment envelope out of his pocket.
“Good,” said Hagrid. “There’s a list there of everything yeh need.”
Harry unfolded a second piece of paper he hadn’t noticed the night before and read:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Uniform
First year student will require:
Three sets of plain work robes (black)
One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)
Please not all pupils’ clothes should carry name tags
Set Books
All students should have a copy of each of the following:
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore
Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble
Other Equipment
1 wand
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
1 set glass or crystal phials
1 telescope
1 set brass scales
Students may also bring an owls OR a cat OR a toad
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS
“Can we buy all this in London?” Harry wondered aloud.
“If yeh know where to go,” said Hagrid.
Harry had never been to London before. Although Hagrid seemed to know where he was going, he was obviously not used to getting there in an ordinary way. He got stuck in the ticket barrier on the Underground and complained loudly that the seats were too small and the trains too slow.
“I don’t know how the Muggles manage without magic,” he said, as they climbed a broken-down escalator which led up to a bustling road lined with shops.
Hagrid was so huge that he parted the crowd easily, all Harry had to do was keep close behind him. They passed book shops and music stores, hamburger bars and cinemas, but nowhere that looked as if it could sell a magic wand. This was just an ordinary street full of ordinary people. Could there really be piles of wizard gold buried miles beneath them? Were there really shops that sold spell books and broomsticks? Might this not all be some twisted mind game that the Dursleys were playing on him? A joke? If Harry hadn't known that the Dursleys had no humour, and didnt care about Harry enough to waste the money required for this, he might have believed it was.
“This is it,” said Hagrid, coming to a halt, “the Leaky Cauldron. It’s a famous place.”
It was a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Hagrid hadn't pointed it out, Harry wouldn't have noticed it was there. The people hurrying by didn’t glance at it. Their eyes slid from the big book shop on one side to the record shop on the other as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all. In fact, Harry had the most peculiar feeling that only he and Hargrid could see it. Before he could mention this, Hagrid steered him inside.
For a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old barman, who was quite bald and looked like he’s lived a good portion of his life already. The low hum of chatter stopped when they walked in. Everyone seemed to know Hagrid; they waved and smiled at him, and the barman reached for a glass, saying, “The usual, Hagrid?”
“Can’t, Tom, I’m on Hogwarts business” said Hagrid, clapping his great big hand on Harry’s shoulder and guiding him into view.
“Good Lord,” the barman exclaimed involuntarily. The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent.
“Bless my soul,” whispered Tom, “Harry Potter… what an honour.”
He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed towards Harry and seized his hand, tears in his eyes.
“Welcome back, Mr Potter, welcome back.”
Harry didn't know what to say. Everyone was looking at him. The old woman with the pipe was puffing on it without realising it had gone out. Hagrid was beaming.
Then there was a great scraping of chairs and Harry found himself shaking hands with everyone at the Leaky Cauldron.
“Doris Crockford, Mr Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last.”
“So proud, Mr Potter, I’m just so proud.”
“Always wanted to shake your hand – I’m all a flutter.”
“Delighted, Mr Potter, just can't tell you, Diggle’s the name, Dedalus Diggle.”
“I've seen you before!” said Harry, ignoring the heat in his face and the way his stomach wobbled worryingly. “You bowed to me once in a shop.”
“He remembers!” cried Dedalus Diggle, looking around at everyone. “Did you hear that? He remembers me!”
Harry shook hands again and again – Doris Crockford kept coming back for more.
A young pale man made his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes was twitching.
“Professor Quirrell!” said Hagrid. “Harry, Professor Quirrel will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts.”
“P-P-Potter,” stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping Harry’s hand, “c-can’t t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you.”
“What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?”
“D-Defence Against the D-D-Dark Arts,” muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he’d rather not think about it. “N-Not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter?” He laughed nervously. Harry thought it only polite to laugh back. “You’ll be getting all your equipment, I suppose? I’ve g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, my–myself.” He looked terrified at the very thought.
But the others wouldn't let Professor Quirrell keep Harry to himself. It took almost ten minutes to get away from them all. Harry didn't know how to deal with the sudden onslaught on people liking him. A part of him - a rather large part - wanted to cry. At last, Hagrid managed to make himself heard over the babble.
“Must get on – lots ter buy. Come on, Harry.”
Doris Crockford shook Harry's hand one last time and Hagrid led them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a dustbin and a few weeds.
Hagrid grinned at Harry.
“Told yeh, didn't I? Told yeh you was famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin’ ter meet yeh – mind you, he’s usually tremblin’.”
“Is he always that nervous?” Truthfully, Harry suspected he would be that nervous at meetings too if they were all going to be like that.
“‘Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin’ outta books' but then he took a year off ter get some first-hand experience… They say he met vampires in the Black Forest and there was a nasty bit o’ trouble with a hag – never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject – now, where’s me umbrella?”
Vampires? Hags? Harry’s head was swimming. Hagrid, meanwhile, was counting bricks in the wall above the dustbin.
“Three up, two across…” he muttered. “Right, stand back, Harry.”
He tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella. The brick he had touched quivered – it wriggled – before the others around it began to do the same. Eventually, all the bricks began to move out of the way, revealing an archway large enough even for Hagrid. The archway revealed a cobbled street which twisted and turned out of sight.
“Welcome,” said Hagrid, “To Diagon Alley.”
He grinned at Harry’s amazement. They stepped through the archway. Harry looked quickly over his shoulder and saw the archway shuffle instantly back into a solid wall.
The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons, outside the nearest shop. Cauldrons – All Sizes – Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver – Self-Stirring – Collapsible said the sign hanging over them.
“Yeah, you’ll be needin’ one,” said Hagrid, “but we gotta get yer money first.”
Harry wished he had about eight more eyes to drink in his surroundings. He turned his head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping. A plump woman outside an Apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, saying, “Dragon liver, seventeen Sickles an ounce, they’re mad…”
A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium – Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown and Snowy. Several boys of about Harry’s age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. “Look,” one of them said, “the new Nimbus Two Thousand – fastest ever –” There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Harry had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels’ eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon…
“Gringotts,” said Hagrid.
They had reached a snowy-white building which towered over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was –
“Yeah, that's a goblin,” said Hagrid quietly as they walked up the white stone steps towards him. The goblin was about a head shorter than Harry. He had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Harry noticed, very long fingers and feet. He bowed as they walked inside, and Harry, not knowing what to do when someone bowed at him, bowed back. The goblin eyes widened and Harry worried he’d done something wrong. Then, as they continued, he wondered if the goblin had recognised him.
Now, they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:
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,
So if you seek beneath our floors,
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.
“Like I said, yeh’d be mad ter try an’ rob it,” said Hagrid.
A pair of goblins bowed them through, and Harry bowed to each of them. These two didn't react, so he figured he mustn’t be offending them at least. It was better to be safe than sorry.
They were in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind long counters on either side, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the room, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. Hagrid and Harry made for the counter.
“Morning,” said Hagrid to a free goblin. The goblin was silent and it looked at Hagrid and then down to Harry. Harry, nervous at the silence, bowed. The goblin bowed back, staring at him. “We’ve come ter take some money outta Mr Harry Potter’s safe.”
“You have his key, sir?”
“Got it here somewhere,” said Hagrid and he started emptying his pockets on to the counter, scattering a handful of mouldy dog biscuits over the gobin’s book of numbers. Harry cringed as the goblin wrinkled his nose. That didn't seem very polite and Harry started to sweat, nervously glancing between Hagrid and the biscuits, mentally urging him to hurry up and take them off the desk. Harry distracted himself by watching the goblin on his right weighing a pile of rubies as big as glowing coals.
“Got it,” said Hagrid at last, holding up the tiny key.
The goblin looked at it closely.
“That seems in order.”
Harry was impressed the goblin could tell from looking at the key. He wondered if it was a magical ability of theirs.
“An’ I’ve also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore,” said Hagrid importantly, throwing out his chest. “It’s about the You-Know-What in vault You-Know-Which.”
The goblin read the letter carefully.
“Very well,” he said, handing it back to Hagrid. “I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!”
Griphook was yet another goblin. Once Hagrid had crammed all the dog-biscuits back inside his pockets, the goblin at the desk instructed Griphook on where to go. The goblin paused to look at Harry for a moment before bowing. Harry bowed back and then followed Hagrid and Griphook towards one of the doors leading off the hall.
“What’s You-Know-What in vault You-Know-Which?” Harry asked.
“Can’t tell yeh that,” said Hagrid mysteriously. “Very secret. Hogwarts business. Dumbeldore’s trusted me. More’n my job’s worth ter tell yeh that.”
Griphook, who had held open the entrance door with a slight bow, led the way, glancing back only occasionally to ensure they were keeping up. The twisting passageways soon opened up to a vast underground area filled with rickety tracks, carts, and the occasional glint of precious metals and gemstones.
“Best stick close,” Hagrid whispered to Harry. “Wouldn’t want ter get lost down here. Goblins don’t take kindly to people wanderin’ off.”
Harry, trying to take in the strange surroundings, nodded and quickened his pace. The air grew colder the deeper they descended, and the roar of the cart tracks intensified, mingling with the faint clinking of distant coins.
Finally, Griphook whistled, summoning an old, creaking cart. “Vault 687 first,” he announced, gesturing for them to climb in.
Harry clambered in, followed by Hagrid, who barely fit inside the small cart. Griphook gave a low grunt of satisfaction before hopping in beside them, flicking a lever to set the cart into motion. They jolted forward, rocketing through the maze of tunnels at breakneck speed. Harry held on tightly, the cold wind stinging his face as they spiralled through the depths of Gringotts, passing torch-lit caverns and the occasional flash of gold beyond iron-barred doors.
When they finally screeched to a halt, Griphook hopped out and led them to Vault 687. He unlocked the door with Harry’s key and a wave of his hand, which opened with a resounding clank. Harry’s eyes widened as he stepped inside, finding himself face-to-face with piles of gold, silver, and bronze coins stacked neatly in the depths of his family vault. There were other things hidden in the back, but Harry couldn’t focus on anything else.
“All this is mine?” he whispered, barely believing his eyes.
“Yeh didn’t think yer parents would’ve left yeh with nothin’, did yeh?” Hagrid chuckled, clapping him on the back. “Go on, take some. Should be more than enough for all yer school things.”
Harry carefully scooped a good portion of each coin into a pouch, still feeling awed by the sight of so much treasure. Once he was finished, Griphook shut the vault door, and they all climbed back into the cart.
“Now, Vault 713,” Griphook said in a low voice, flicking the lever again. They zoomed further into the bank’s depths, the temperature dropping even more. The atmosphere became tense as they stopped in front of a narrow vault with a much more intricate door.
“Here on Hogwarts business, are we?” Griphook asked, glancing at Hagrid with a sly look.
“Yeah, special Hogwarts business,” Hagrid replied, his voice a little gruff. He held up a small key, which Griphook took and inserted into the lock with utmost care. With a series of clicks and a hiss, the vault opened slowly, revealing a tiny, wrapped parcel lying on a stone plinth.
Harry leaned forward to look, but Griphook quickly closed the door after Hagrid retrieved the mysterious package.
“Best we be getting back,” Hagrid said, tucking the package into his coat as they climbed back into the cart. “And don’t yeh go askin’ too many questions, Harry. Not just yet.”
Harry glanced at the package with a sense of curiosity and wonder, knowing he had seen something very important—though just what it was, he couldn’t yet imagine.
One wild cart ride later, they stood blinking in the sunlight outside gringotts. Harry didn't know where to run first now that he had a bag full of money. He didn't have to know how many galleons there were to a pound to know that he was holding more money than he’d ever had in his whole life – more money than even Dudley had ever had.
“Might as well get yer uniform,” said Hagrid, nodding towards Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. “Listen, Harry, would yeh mind if i slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts.” He did look a bit sick, so Harry entered Madam Malkin's shop alone, feeling nervous.
“For Hogwarts?” A short, bubbly woman – Harry could only see the back of her as she wrote something at the counter– inquired.
“Um – yes. School uniform?” Harry wasn’t sure if that was how he was supposed to say it, but it seemed to answer what she asked.
“Ahh, a first-year I presume–” she turned around and froze on the spot, a smile stuck on her face but her eyes widening. “Mr. Potter,” her voice airier than before. The woman corrected herself quickly, reverting back to her previous tone. “Happy to be of service, Mr Potter. Let’s get you all fitted.”
Madam Malkin led Harry over to a short stool almost entirely surrounded by mirrors. It made Harry nervous, seeing himself so much – honestly more than he’s ever looked at himself in his life. He noticed how dull and colourless his skin looked from a lifetime of malnourishment, his thin frame devoured in Dudley’s baggy hand-me-downs, and of course, how so very noticeable his scar was. It wasn't a great insecurity for him. At one point in his life it was a feeling of closeness with his parents, but now–-knowing what he knows about who put it there… Harry wasn't too sure how to feel. Every wizard and witch knew the story– would take one look at his spiderwebbed scar and know who put it there.
“Stand on the stool dear.”
Harry did so, looking away from his reflection as much as he could. She dropped a long black robe over his head and began to measure and pin and work to fit it to his slender size. As he glanced up at the mirror again he paused. The robe– it almost completely hid his body. It complimented it in a way that reshaped his frame and hid what was underneath. Harry thought he could get used to wizard fashion rather quickly.
He’d kind of zoned out for the rest of the fitting. Only focusing back in when Madam Malkin stood back with her hands on her hips, eyeing the robe. “That’s you done, my dear.” Harry thanked her, had her help to give her the correct coins, and was on his way.
Hagrid was a rather obvious sight, even in a bustling street filled with people, at least double the height and thickness of passers-by. To their credit, most didn't bat an eye at Hagrid.
They stood outside of another shop now – Flourish and Blotts – which seemed to be spilling with people. “Time to grab yer books, Harry.”
“Hagrid… Are there no other book shops here?”
“Well, yeh, there’s the second-hand one a few shops down, bu’ yeh this is where every Hogwarts student goes.”
“I can tell… think I’ll brave the second hand ones.” Without looking back at Hagrid, Harry moved down the street. He didn't want to admit it–he wasn't even sure what he was feeling– but he knew he hated spending this newfound money wherever he wanted. He didn't know enough about money, about what Galleons translate to in pounds. If he was willing to stop and think about it, he’d probably say he was scared of running out, even after seeing the huge piles in the vault. It didn't quite feel real yet.
Harry entered the secondhand bookshop, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the abundance of magical books around him. He’s never been allowed access to so many books before – magic or muggle.
Harry reached the section labelled Educational and searched for The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) on a shelf.
A bushy-haired girl he had noticed nearby, approached him with a smile. She was holding a stack of books he was sure would topple him over. “That’s a good one. Though A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration is very interesting too.” She spoke confidently, hinting at her eagerness and pride in her knowledge of the magical world.
Harry, not expecting anyone to talk to him, nodded. Though he did appreciate her friendliness.
The girl must sense his hesitation because she introduced herself. “I’m Hermione Granger. Are you starting at Hogwarts, too?”
Harry nodded.
“I’m Harry Potter.”
Hermione’s eyes widened, recognising his name immediately.
“Harry Potter? The Harry Potter?” She exclaimed. “I’ve read about you! I guess I should have guessed based on the scar but they didn't actually have any images, you see, and they certainly didn't describe it accurately–”
Harry was still unused to the attention. His face felt hot and he looked around nervously.
Hermione paused and recovered quickly, noting the tension and asked if he liked reading.
“I haven't done much reading before. Though I like this shop.”
“Oh, I do love second-hand books. It gives them another chance. And they’re almost always in perfectly acceptable condition for a much more reasonable price!"
The two exchanged a few more words about Hogwarts, and Hermione eagerly talked about how she’s read all the first-year textbooks already. Harry was both amused and intrigued, feeling a bit more at ease with the idea of starting school alongside someone like her. Though he doubted he’d be able to keep up, he felt the sudden urge to try his best.
He looked over to Hermione’s parents, muggles, looking both at ease in a bookshop and also lost at the book they're currently looking at together. If Hermione was so knowledgeable, even though she learned of her magic at the same time as him, then perhaps he can also learn just as quickly. Maybe not quite as quickly.
They said their goodbyes as Harry paid for his books and promised they’d see each other at Hogwarts. Harry left feeling accomplished in finding at least one person he would know in this new world – someone just as new to it.
They visited the Apothecary next, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor, jars of herbs, dried roots and bright powders lined the walls, bundles of feathers, strings of fangs and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. While Hagrid asked the man behind the counter for a supply of some basic potions ingredients for Harry, Harry himself examined silver unicorn horns at twenty-one Galleons each and miniscule glittery-black beetle eyes (five Knuts a scoop).
Outside the Apothecary, Harry checked his list again.
“Just yer wand left – oh yeah, an’ I still haven't got yeh a birthday present.”
Harry felt himself go red.
“You don't have to –”
“I know I don't have to. Tell yeh what, I'll get yer animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yehd be laughed at – an’ I don' like cats, they make me sneeze. I'll get yeh an owl. All the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer post an’ everythin’.”
Twenty minutes later, they left Eeylops Owl Emporium, which had been dark and full of rustling and flickering, jewel-bright eyes Harry now carried a large cage which held a small Snowy owl, fast asleep with her head under her wing. He couldn't stop staring at her, she was beautiful. He hoped Hagrid understood how grateful he was, even if all he could do was repeat “thank you” over and over again.
“Don’ mention it,” said Hagrid gruffly. “Don’ expect you've had a lotta presents from them Dursleys. Just Ollivanders left now – only place fer wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand.”
A magic wand… this was what Harry had been really looking forward to.
The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Make of Fine Wands since 382 BC. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.
A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, a singular wooden chair behind a small counter. The walls were lined with shelving, stacked full of long narrow boxes. There looked to be a narrow passage to the right but it was dark. Harry tried to get a closer look, noting the passage was in fact more shelves of boxes when a man's head suddenly popped out of the dark.
Harry jumped. Hagrid jumped too, shaking the floor a little.
“Good afternoon,” said the man in a soft voice. He stood before them now, his wide eyes shining, reflecting the warm lights of the lamps barely illuminating the room. It felt cosy.
“Hello,” said Harry awkwardly.
“Ah yes,” said the man.”Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter.” It wasn’t a question. “You have your mother’s eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work.”
Mr Ollivander moved closer to Harry. Harry wished he would blink. The eye contact was invasive.
“Your father, well, you took on more of his genetics by the look of it.” He didn't seem to say it in any particular tone, a simple fact. It was a sharp contrast to how the Dursleys would say it. “He favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it – it’s really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course.”
Mr Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes.
“And that’s where…”
Mr Ollivander traced one of the lines of Harry’s scar, down his forehead with a long, steady finger.
“I’m sorry to say I sold the wand that did it,” he said softly. “Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands… Well, if I’d known what that wand was going out into the world to do…”
He shook his head and then, to Harry's relief, spotted Hagrid.
“Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again… Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn’t it?”
“It was, sir, yes,” said Hagrid.
“Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you were expelled?” said Mr Ollivander, suddenly stern.
“”Ey – yes, they did, yes,” said Hagrid, shuffling his feet. “I’ve still got the pieces, though,” he added brightly.
“But you don't use them?’ said Mr Ollivander sharply.
“Oh, no, sir,” said Hagrid quickly. Harry noticed he gripped his pink umbrella very tightly as he spoke.
Mr Ollivander hummed, giving Hagrid a piercing look. “Well, now – Mr Potter. Let me see.” He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. “Which is your wand arm?”
“Er – well, I’m right-handed,” said Harry.
“Hold out your arm. That’s it.” He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, “Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand.
Harry suddenly realised that the tape measure, which was now measuring between his nostrils, was doing so on its own. Mr Ollivander was flitting between shelves, pulling down boxes.
“That will do,” he said, and the tape measure crumpled to a heap on the floor. “Right then, Mr Potter. Try this one. Beachwood and Dragon heartstring, nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave.”
Harry took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Mr Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.
“Hawthorn and unicorn hair. Ten inches. Reasonably springy. Try–”
Harry tried – but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr Ollivander.
“No, no – here, maple and phoenix feather, seven inches, quite whippy. Go on, go on, try it out.”
Harry tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of ‘tried’ wands was mounting higher and higher and higher by the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.
“Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we’ll find the perfect match here somewhere – I wonder, now – yes, why not – unusual combination – holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.”
Harry took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Hagrid whooped and clapped and Mr Ollivander cried, “Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh very good. Well, well, well… how curious… how very curious…”
He put Harry’s wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, “Curious… curious…”
“Sorry," said Harry, “but what’s curious?”
Mr Ollivander fixed him with a stare.
“I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Mr Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather – just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother – why, its brother gave you that scar.”
Harry swallowed.
“Yes, thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember… I think we must expect great things from you, Mr Potter… After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things – terrible, yes, but great.”
Harry shivered. He wasn't sure he liked Mr Ollivander too much. He paid seven gold Galleons for his wand and Mr Ollivander bowed them from the shop.
The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Harry and Hagrid stepped outside.
“Got time fer a bite to eat before we should leave fer the train,” Hagrid said.
He bought Harry a burger and they sat down on wooden seats to eat them. Harry kept looking around, taking in Diagon Alley while he could.
“You all right, Harry? Yer very quiet,” said Hagrid.
Harry wasn’t sure he could explain. He’d just had the best birthday of his life – and yet – he chewed his burger, trying to find the words. The grease was starting to make him feel sick, reminding him of the grease that floated in the ‘soup’ he was always fed. He forced himself to eat it, Hagrid had bought him this, he could stomach through it to be polite.
“Everyone thinks I’m special,” he said at last. “All those people in the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Mr Ollivander … but I don’t know anything about magic at all. How can they expect great things? I’m famous and I can't even remember what I'm famous for. I don't know what happened when Vol- sorry – I mean, the night my parents died.”
Hagrid leant across the table. Behind the wild beard and eyebrows he wore a very kind smile.
“You’re eleven, Harry. No ones expectin’ much of yeh at this age. And don’t you worry, Hogwarts is there to teach yeh things. You’re not alone, ya know. I bet there’ll be a few others that don’t know much either – Muggleborns. Just be yerself. I know it’s hard. Yeh’ve been singled out an’ that’s always hard. But yeh’ll have a great time at Hogwarts – I did – still do, ‘smatter of fact.”
Together they walked back through the Leaky Cauldron and into muggle London, heading towards the station. Hagrid took Harry onto the train back to the Dursleys. At the other end, nearing the familiar cul-de-sac, Hagrid handed him an envelope.
“Yer ticket fer Hogwarts,” he said. “First o’ September – King’s Cross – it’s all on yer ticket. Any problems with the Dursleys, send me a letter with yer owl, she’ll know where to find me. See yeh soon, Harry.”
Harry wanted to thank Hagrid and watch him walk to wherever he was going until he was out of sight; he turned back to say goodbye, but he blinked and Hagrid had gone. Harry set off back to the house. He had a lot of reading to catch up on.