Diagon Alley
The car ride into London the next morning was deafeningly silent, the weight of it pressing down on Harry like a physical force. In the front seats, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept glancing at each other, and Dudley, sitting at the other end of the car from him, was in shock.
After the chaos of the previous morning, Dudley had spent most of the rest of the day over at one of his ‘friends’ houses. It wasn’t until he was getting ready for bed that he realised his parents had given away his second bedroom to Harry. The fit he threw was definitely in his top three tantrums of all time… maybe even number one, given just how long it lasted. He’d yelled, screamed, cried, vomited, and it sounded like he’d even hit his father with his Smeltings stick. And, for the first time in his life, it didn’t work.
His parents hadn’t given him his room back.
It was a good thing he still had some hope burning in his chest, because otherwise his anxiety would be making him nauseated by now. The Dursley’s were nothing if not consistent, so these sudden changes were leaving Harry hopelessly disorientated.
Finally – finally – Uncle Vernon pulled up along a random street, that looked no different than any other London street. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia looked at each other for a long moment, before his uncle reached out and put a supportive hand over his wife’s. Steadying with the support of her husband, Aunt Petunia took a deep breath and turned her head to glare at Harry.
“This is where my parent’s dropped your mother off to get her things,” she snapped. Harry perked up at the mention of one of his parents, hoping he was about to learn more. Did his mother go to Hogwarts as well? Did she have magic, too? Was that why Aunt Petunia never mentioned her? Aunt Petunia pointed at a dingy-looking pub. “In there. We’ll be back here at five to pick you up. Don’t keep us waiting, or we’ll leave you.”
“And don’t forget anything!” Uncle Vernon snarled, as he threw a fifty-pound note at Harry, who caught it with wide eyes. “We’re not coming back here!”
“Why does he get money?” Dudley whined, seeming to finally come out of his shock.
“We’re going shopping for you now, darling,” Aunt Petunia cooed, happy with the topic change. “Your father even took the day off so we have the whole day together. Won’t that be fun!”
Dudley was appeased by the promise of future gifts but still glared at Harry suspiciously. Despite appearances and the indifference to his schoolwork, Dudley wasn’t stupid – especially if something threatened his easy lifestyle. He knew something was going on and that Harry was probably the cause of it, but all his tried-and-true methods of trying to fix it (i.e., scream until his parent’s cave) suddenly, for the first time in his life, didn’t work. He was just as lost as Harry at this point.
“Out, boy!” Uncle Vernon snapped, and Harry quickly slipped out of the car.
The door had barely closed when the car sped off, tires squealing slightly, and leaving Harry standing there, staring at a dingy pub, with more money than he’s ever dreamed of having clutched in his hand.
The Leaky Cauldron was a grubby-looking place, contrasting sharply with the book shop and the record shop neighbouring it. Its name was the only hint towards its magical origin… that and it seemed that the people rushing past it seemed unable to see it, their eyes glazing over as they skipped passed it. That… was a good sign, right?
Taking a deep breath, Harry gathered his courage, put the fifty in his pocket, and stepped inside.
The inside was exactly what he had been expecting from the outside: a normal, if dark, shabby pub. There weren’t many people inside, but since it was a Wednesday morning Harry thought that might be normal. Still, there was no sign of anything magical. Maybe he could buy his books upstairs?
Hesitantly, he shuffled to the bar and the old, mostly bald barman wiping some glasses with a cloth. The barman looked up as he approached and gave him a welcoming smile.
“Ah! The Hogwarts lists are out already?” he exclaimed, making Harry almost collapse with the relief he felt. “Good, good. That’s much better than last year! I suppose you need my help getting into the Alley?”
“Um, yes please, sir.” Harry was not going to waste this golden opportunity.
“Come on, then.”
The barman put the clean glass away and waved him over to the back of the bar. Through the door, was a small walled courtyard, empty except for a dustbin and a few stubborn weeds. Was this a trap? Was the man just pretending to help him to get him alone, away from the witnesses inside?
“Remember: three up, two across,” the barman said cheerily, taking a polished stick out of his pocket and tapping a brick above and to the side of the dustbin. The brick twitched and a hole appeared in the middle of it, growing wider and wider until it became a full-sized archway, opening onto a winding cobbled street.
Harry stopped breathing. That was magic. That was magic. There was a wall, and now there wasn’t. And the barman hadn’t done anything but tap a brick with a stick (actually, it was probably a wand, wasn’t it?).
Harry flinched out of his amazement as the barman chuckled good-naturedly.
“You’ll get used to it quickly, lad. My name’s Tom, by the way. Feel free to stop by for lunch, sometime.” With a cheerful wave, he walked back inside his pub.
“Thank you,” Harry quickly called after him, getting one last smile in response.
Excitement steadily growing to levels he had never felt before, Harry stepped through into the alley. The archway shrank as quickly as it grew once he’d passed through and Harry briefly panicked until he spotted another dustbin, identical to the one on the other side. Right: three up, two across. He’ll have to remember that.
The first shop around the initial twist, had a stack of cauldrons outside the door, with a sign hanging over them advertising: Cauldrons – All Sizes – Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver – Self-Stirring – Collapsible. Okay, that was a little overwhelming. Harry took his Hogwarts letter out of his pocket and opened it to the supply list.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Uniform
First year students 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 note that 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 Beginners’ 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 owl OR a cat OR a toad
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS
Okay, pewter, standard size 2. Whatever that means. They look heavy, though, and it’s right near the Leaky Cauldron, so he’ll get it on his way out. Besides, Harry had hours here, and he really wanted to look around.
The alley didn’t disappoint. Every store he passed had something fantastical, from owls, to flying broomsticks, to disgusting-looking ingredients, to robes, to shiny trinkets he couldn’t even begin to guess the use of. But Harry quickly realised he had a problem and, once again, his anxiety was threatening to kill off his joy. Honestly, the rollercoaster of emotions was starting to get tiring.
The products on display outside weren’t being sold for pounds. The strange ingredients were being sold for a various number of Sickles per ounce. The flying broomsticks on display were being sold for a few hundred Galleons. The newspaper (with moving pictures!) was being sold for five Knuts. Clearly, witches and wizards had their own currency. Maybe there was a bank somewhere?
The bank was ridiculously easy to find once Harry knew to look for it. The grandiose, snowy-white building towered over everything else in the alley and there was a guard standing beside the shiny bronze doors. If that wasn’t a bank, Harry didn’t know what was.
The guard wore a scarlet and gold uniform… and wasn’t human. Harry had no idea what it could be. It only reached up to his chin, with leathery skin, sharp features, a pointed beard, and long fingers and toes. It bowed as Harry walked past it and Harry bobbed a confused bow back, unsure if he needed to but not wanting to be rude. It ignored him and Harry scurried further inside.
He was met with a silver pair of doors this time, with two more of the non-human guards beside them. Inscribed on the door was a warning, that pretty such confirmed his bank theory.
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.
Once again, he was bowed through the door (and, once again, he bobbed an awkward bow back), and entered a huge marble hall. There were numerous doors leading further into the bank, and a long counter, with what must have been close to a hundred of the non-humans sitting and working along it.
One of the nearby non-humans had just called over one of their colleagues to take their human customer away somewhere, so Harry hurried over to the now empty teller.
“Good morning,” Harry bowed uncomfortably.
The non-human tilted its head slightly back in a nod, or a tiny bow… Harry wasn’t sure, but he took it as encouragement to continue. He took out the fifty-pound note.
“Would you like to exchange muggle currency for wizarding currency?” the teller asked when Harry paused for too long.
Relieved, Harry nodded, while making a mental note to remember the word 'muggle'. “Yes, please.”
“Fifty pounds will get you ten Galleons,” the teller reached under the counter and placed a large golden coin onto it. “There are seventeen Sickles to a Galleon,” they placed a slightly smaller silver coin next to the golden Galleon. “And twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle,” they placed a small bronze coin next to the silver Sickle. The bronze Knut looked about half the size of the Galleon. “How many of each denomination would you like?”
Okay, that was a lot, and Harry was not ready to do that kind of math at the moment. It was probably best to get a range, given the diversity he had to buy. But the Knuts seem like petty change, given just how many fit into a Sickle.
“Can I please have seven Galleons, and three Galleons worth of Sickles?”
The teller’s only answer was to reach under the counter again and take out handfuls of the two coins. They measured out six Galleons and a pile of Sickles, their long fingers dexterously moving the coins faster than Harry could count them. Before he knew it, Harry was walking out into the sunshine with a surprisingly full and heavy pouch. There were a lot of Sickles in three Galleons.
A pouch of coins felt like it was worth a lot more than a single paper note, but Harry had to remember that this was all he had. He had to be careful not to run out. And, if he was careful, maybe he would have enough left over to buy lunch! One small bowl of cold soup was not enough for a meal and that was all he had for both dinner last night and breakfast that morning.
With the promise of actual food, and his boosted confidence from his success at the bank, Harry started wandering the alley and going into every shop that looked like it might sell whatever he needed, comparing the prices and getting an idea of just how much ten Galleons was really worth in the magical world.
The answer was: not much. The full uniform alone would clean him out if he bought it brand new and tailored (which seemed to be standard – nothing at Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions was off-the-rack, and Fabio’s Fabulous Robes further down the alley was of the same vein). And the books! He definitely needed to find cheaper options.
He turned around and headed back towards the bank, remembering the second-hand shop he glimpsed in a connecting alley not far from there.
Second-chance. Harry thought the shop name perfectly described his entrance into the magical world: it’s both scary and exciting. There was a sign in front of it, which is what had caught Harry’s eye the first time he passed, with “Hogwarts textbooks! Buy one, get one free! Only 20 Knuts!” scrawled across it. He didn’t think he’d find a better deal than that, so he walked in.
A bell chimed cheerily to announce his arrival and the woman at the counter looked up from where she was working over a trunk. Harry glanced around and smiled as he realised he could get nearly everything he needed here. The shop looked like it specialised in selling old Hogwarts supplies.
“You got your wand yet, kid?” the woman called.
Harry started and whipped around to face her. This was the first time today that a shop owner had called out anything other than “Welcome!” when he entered. After that (and after they examined him), most of the workers tended to ignore him completely. This worker was an older adult and looked incredibly… normal. Her hair was either a light brown or a dark blonde and her eyes were a light blue.
“Uh… no, ma’am?”
She nodded, face blank of any judgement. “Get one first. It’s the most important thing you’re ever going to buy, and second-hand wands never work as well. Everything else can always be bought cheaper, but don’t stinge on your wand. Go two doors down,” she tilted her head to indicate left. “Twigg’s Emporium doesn’t have a large selection and his materials are limited, but he has the cheapest prices for good, legal wands, so check him first. If your magic doesn’t accept any of those wands, then go back into the alley proper, turn left, and go to Ollivanders. He’s more expensive but you’re guaranteed to get a wand there.”
“My magic might not accept a wand?”
“Everyone’s magic is different and resonates stronger with different materials. It’s important to get a wand that suits you, or you’ll cripple your education. Come back once you’ve found yours, and I’ll help you get sorted with the rest of your supplies. You can shop elsewhere if you wish, but do try not to go too deep into Knockturn Alley, okay? It’s not safe for kids travelling alone.”
Harry hesitated, but decided to trust her. He was shopping blind, after all, so it really didn’t matter what he bought first. She seemed nice and hadn’t given him a reason not to trust her.
“How will I know if a wand accepts me?” he risked asking.
“You’ll know. The first time your magic finds a wand it resonates with, it isn’t subtle. Lights, music, even a scent – it’ll depend on your magic.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
The bell chimed again as he exited. Second-chance was the first shop in the branching alley (Knockturn Alley?) and looked quite a bit more rundown than the main alley now that he was in it. He followed the lady’s instructions to Twigg’s Emporium and entered the much dingier looking store. Even without the lady’s warning, Harry wouldn’t’ve gone much further into this alley. It visibly deteriorated with every step away from the main alley he took and there was a scummy feel to the place that made him very uncomfortable.
There was no bell this time and the inside was quite a bit emptier. It was bare except for the shelves along the walls holding a line of wands (even though the lady had said they didn’t have a large selection, there were a lot of wands), and the counter, which half-hid a tall, thin man, with dark shorn hair and intense silver eyes that immediately focused on Harry and didn’t look to be leaving him any time soon.
“Hello, sir, I’m looking for a wand?” Harry didn’t mean to make it a question, but the man was unnerving.
The man’s eyes narrowed as Harry took a tentative step forward. “You’re gonna be a difficult one. I prob’bly don’t have any that’ll fit ya.”
Harry stopped. He could tell that just by looking at him? Wow. Harry didn’t know if he should be impressed or not, but he was either way.
“I mean, you can give it a go… bu’ don’t be surprised if you end up with nuthin’.”
Harry decided to give it a go. He wanted to hold a wand, even if it wasn’t his wand. The man’s eyes never strayed from him as he gave him instructions and Harry walked along the shelves, picking up each wand and giving it a wave. Nothing happened, of course, but Harry didn’t feel the anxiety he thought he would. Actually, he was surer than ever that Hogwarts hadn’t made a mistake in giving him a letter! The man hadn’t said he wouldn’t find a wand, he just said he wouldn’t find his wand here. As in, he’ll definitely find a wand somewhere else.
An hour later, Harry was walking back out of Knockturn Alley and down the brighter main alley. Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC, looked surprisingly like Twigg’s, only a lot more cluttered. He had been wrong: Twigg’s did have a small selection. The room looked just as small, but instead of shelves with a single line of wands, Ollivanders had thousands of long, thin boxes stacked right up to the ceiling. The air was just as dusty, and the walls and floor just as dirty, but the energy in the air was much more obvious (it had been so subtle at Twigg’s he hadn’t even noticed it until he walked into this shop and retroactively realised the potential that Twigg's had). It made the air heavy, like humidity but dry and… sparky, like static electricity. Harry felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.
“Good morning,” a soft voice spoke, making Harry jump a foot in the air. How had he missed the man walking in front of him. He was older than the man at Twigg’s, but he had remarkably similar silver eyes, that stared with the same intensity. Did all wandmakers have those eyes, or was it just a coincidence?
“Hello,” Harry said, trying to swallow his awkwardness.
“Ah yes. Yes, yes. I thought I’d be seeing you soon. 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 for charm work.”
Harry immediately forgot his nerves, focusing on the man. He had his mother’s eyes? He hadn’t known that. And he knows what her first wand was!
“Your father, on the other hand, 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.”
His father had magic too! Did his parents meet at Hogwarts? Will any of the teachers there know them, or remember them? If they do, will they be willing to talk to him about them?
“Now, Mr Potter. Let me see. Which is your wand arm?” He pulled a long tape measure out of his pocket, and Harry noticed he had managed to walk within reaching distance at some point. Now that he was closer, he could see his eyes weren't the same as the man's in Twigg's. These were much paler: a misty white rather than metallic silver.
“Oh, um, I’m right-handed?” Hopefully you wielded a wand with the same hand as a pen.
“Hold out your arm. That’s it.” He started to measure every one of Harry’s dimensions, from his arm, to the circumference of his head, to each individual finger. “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.”
That fit in with what the lady told Harry about second-hand wands being no good. It was nice getting confirmation.
Sometime during his speech, the man had moved off to flit around the floor-to-ceiling shelves, taking down the occasional box, and leaving the tape measure to continue measuring Harry on its own. Harry didn’t mind. He enjoyed just watching it move all by itself and revelling in the magic.
“That will do,” the man said, and the tape measure immediately crumpled onto the floor. How did he do that? He wasn’t using his wand, it didn’t sound lie a spell (he hoped spells wouldn’t sound like that - it would be disappointing, in a way). “Right then, Mr Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave.”
Like at Twigg’s, Harry went through wand after wand, giving each a wave. Unlike at Twigg’s, each wand was described by the man and snatched out of his hand the moment the wand showed no reaction. As the pile of discarded wand boxes grew larger and larger, the man seemed to grow happier and happier.
“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 and immediately knew it was his. Warmth flowed up his fingers through the wood and a spark ran through his arm. He gave his wand the least uncomfortable wave he had all day. Red and gold sparks erupted from the end like a sparkler, lighting up the dark room.
The man took his wand back and returned it to its box, seeming to suddenly sober up from his previous excitement. The change was jarring and even more unnerving than his staring had been.
“It’s a powerful wand. I think we must expect great things from you, Mr Potter.”
He passed over the box with the solemnity usually reserved for a funeral.
The woman was once again working on the trunk when Harry walked back into the store, still trying to shake off the ominous weight that had settled on his shoulders when he received his wand.
“You get your wand, kid?”
“Yes, thank you ma’am.” His wand had been seven Galleons. Seven. If he hadn’t bought it first, he definitely would have spent that money on something else without knowing he was shooting himself in the foot.
“Good,” the woman nodded with a satisfied nod. “Now, the schoolbooks are over there, and sorted by year, uniforms are in that wardrobe, there, and if you need help figuring out any of the other tools, give me a shout.”
Everything in the shop was second-hand, but it was all clean and fixed up. He got one of every book and most of his uniform by himself, but had to ask the lady for help with the gloves and other equipment. He always picked the cheapest option even if it looked more banged up, since they were all useable, because it was only now (having seen the trunk on the counter again) that he realised he needed a trunk himself to carry it all in.
“Okay, you’ll also need some quills and parchment, but I don’t sell those here. You’re lucky the Defence book was used a few years ago by another professor, or you’d have to buy that one elsewhere too.”
“Do you sell trunks, too?”
“Yes. They’re nothing fancy, because I was never that successful at Ancient Ruins, but they will work just fine.” She took a trunk that looked identical to the one still on the counter, out from behind the counter and plonked it down at his feet. “It has a slight expansion charm on the inside and protection charms on the outside to prevent damage. Is there anything else you needed?”
“…How much?” he asked weakly, voice barely above a whisper as he wrung his hands.
She hummed, sounding somewhat sympathetic. “In total, that will be forty-five Sickles and ten Knuts.”
Harry sighed in relief and bought out his coin pouch. If his rough math was right, the trunk cost about ten Sickles. The lady took his silver and gave him back a handful of bronze. He now had five Sickles and nineteen Knuts left. That should be enough for some stationary.
“Now, take care of everything, alright? If it’s still in good nick I can buy it back when you no longer need it. That’s where I get most of this stuff.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“You’re welcome, kid. Good luck at Hogwarts and work hard.”
Harry started making his way back to the Leaky Cauldron at 4 o’clock, not trusting the Dursleys to not come early and blame him for making them wait (or just leaving when they don’t see him waiting for them). His stomach was really starting to hurt, now, but he was willing to skip a meal if it meant he had enough ink and parchment to make it through the year (even though the Leaky Cauldron smelt really good and made him slightly regret that choice). He was planning on making the stationary last even longer by using the multitude of mostly-unused notebooks and pens that Dudley dumped into his second bedroom at the end of every school year – he’ll save the parchment and quills for assignments, but notes can be kept on paper, where the teachers won’t care. He also managed to find a nice cheap bookbag as he was wandering around, using his free afternoon to absorb as much of the magical alley as he could.
He sat at one of the tables outside the Leaky Cauldron, next to the street, and decided to read through his schoolbooks while he waited. His anxiety about both Hogwarts and the Dursley’s had almost completely disappeared now, and even the rest of summer was starting to look more promising.
Who cares if he’s locked in Dudley’s second bedroom? His new books will give him plenty to do while he waits for September to arrive! He doesn’t see himself getting bored any time soon.