If I have to be honest, reincarnating into a completely new world devoid of any parahumans despite being a crazy mass murderer and torturer for so long is such a lucky fate that I often wonder if Contessa has anything to do with this.
She probably does.
As it stands though, I am allowed to grumble about the few eccentricities I am encountering here. Such as the one this old woman with a hilariously pointy hat perched on top of her head is leading me to, by tapping a stick to a wall.
The wall comes apart to reveal a path and in chase of the swift McGonagall, I blitz through.
Let me tell you, the Diagon Alley is overrated. The pavement is consistently bumpy and uneven, the buildings are far too close to each other and they make the whole atmosphere suffocating as a result, and there is just an aura of decay. I didn't like the place at the first glance. And all the wizards and witches, oh man.
Nonetheless, shopping is enjoyable even if whether being a witch is still up in the air. At first we go through boring stuff like converting my parents' cash to the wizard currency and looking for books, but I have always enjoyed trying out clothes and do so in this instance. Some of the tools prove to be interesting too, if a bit bizarre, but I don't complain as my guide seems stern. After oggling at the owls and attemping to impress McGonagall by listing the species of each of them, she pulls me into an old looking shop, though surely not as old as it claims to be.
Wands, not sticks, are sold here. McGonagall expositions a bit about how the wands are a lot more than they appear to be and how individual they are and how they choose the wizard instead of the other way around. Then she leaves me to fend for myself.
Turning away from her departing figure, I take the inside of the shop in. One thing that is most striking is the smell, though it isn't unpleasant.
The guy who appears to be the owner is already attending another customer. I watch as he takes the wands out of their boxes, hands them -one by one- to a girl with quite the wild black hair
and snatches them out of her hand after an awkward wave of her hand results in nothing. Neither acknowledge my existence as the process continues since who knows when.
Another failure, and the man looks seriously dejected. As his hand closes around the tip of the unfit wand though, his eyes widen and his subconscious pull fails to not only disclose the wand out of the girl's hand, but to budge the girl at all.
It's a bizarre sight, as if the girl has been turned into a statue, but the man roars with a raspy laugh and sends her on her merry way, suddenly satisfied with the wand. As the girl steps out of the shop, she glances at me through the window, our eyes meet and I detect one thing on her mostly neutral face.
Recognition.
She walks away.
"Doesn't talk, that one." A pause. "Minevra told me about you."
I turn to the old man. His eyes are sparkling with interest.
He takes my measurements, which are apparently relevant, and it is asked which hand is my dominant one.
Perceptive enough to pick up on my boredom, he starts talking about wandmaking and cores and wood. I listen with one ear.
I unfortunately don't know myself well enough to figure out which wand is the one for me with the info Ollivander provides about each one before he hands it to me.
I leave the place with my dragon heartstring, hazel, ten inches long wand. I had expected a phonenix core, at least, but the wood is unusual too. Something to do with being true to oneself and whatnot.
I find McGonagall talking with who I presume to be a senior student of Hogwarts.
What a name.
He is very tall and has silky blond hair. His physique is visibly lean despite the robes he is wearing. He notices me and his eyes widen in suprise.
I frown. Is it the difference of color between my eyes...? They happen to be naturally that way, this time.
He turns back to McGonagall and continues, and I'm close enough to make out, "Yes, yes professor. I'll speak with Jack."
The name brings out several memories, even if the student in question has nothing to do with them. I make my presence known, introductions pass and yada yada and eventually he leaves. Before he leaves though, he pats me on the head. When I allow it, he looks baffled. What a weirdo.
Seemingly done with the place, we take our leave, and McGonagall tells me about another kid who will be starting out this term like me. Name's Bradley apparently, and someone Gabriel -the blondie- knows. Bradley is supposedly a massive fan of Acromantulas which the professor clearly finds weird but doesn't say so.
Before I'm dropped off, McGonagall asks me.
"Would you happen to know one Tracey Davis?"
I don't. I tell her so and wonder why she asked.
"Just thought you two might be related."
Doubtful.