Diagon Alley
It was the 31st of July, to most people nothing but a summer day like any other, but not to the eleven year-old boy who, like many other people did, too, walked up the stairs from one of the underground stations in London, and along a busy shopping-street, trying to avoid bumping into anyone while determinedly looking out for his destination. No one took any notice of the boy, who was small and skinny for his age, had alert bright green eyes, pale skin and naturally messy black hair that was especially messy-looking now, as he hadn't bothered to comb it at all that morning. He was wearing his cousin's hand-me-downs, which were rather worn-out and much too big for him. The only remarkable-looking thing about him was a lightning-bolt-shaped scar on his forehead.
This boy's name was Harry Potter, and that day was a very special day to him for many reasons. One of them was that it was his eleventh birthday, but he didn't care much about that, as he was used to his birthdays being ignored anyway. Another reason was that he was making his first trip to London ever. He had found out the truth about how parents' deaths. The most important one, though, was that he had just been told that he was a wizard. A real wizard who could do real magic, not one who performed silly card-tricks and pulled bunnies out of hats. And best of all, he had been given the opportunity to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
The last days had been very eventful for Harry. Due to his parents being dead his mother's sister Petunia and her husband Vernon Dursley had raised him. The Dursleys had a son of about Harry's age as well, but they had never treated the children equally. Whereas Dudley Dursley, a mean kid of the size of a baby-whale, had been horribly spoiled and fussed over by them for all his life, Harry had mostly grown up locked away in the cupboard under the stairs that served as his room, and become used to being treated like a piece of furniture and insulted. The Dursleys thought that he was a freak and liked to pretend he didn't exist. The other children at school thought he was abnormal, too, and many of them were afraid of him. The main reason for that was that unexplainable things tended to happen around Harry. Even when he hadn't known that he was a wizard yet, he had noticed that he had abilities normal people didn't. Like he'd always been able to move small things just by willing them to. But his aunt and uncle didn't want him to do any such abnormal, evil things and punished him every time anything strange happened, so Harry tried his best to appear normal and not let anyone catch him at doing anything that didn't fit into what the Dursleys regarded as normal. But sometimes, these incidents still happened …
For example, at Dudley's birthday the Dursleys, not wanting to leave their nephew in the house on his own, had been forced to take Harry to the zoo with them. There he had spoken with a boa constrictor that had actually been able to understand and also speak to him. According to Dudley and his friend Pier Harry had been hissing to the serpent. When Dudley had shoved Harry aside to press his nose to the glass and get a better view at the snake, anger had risen in Harry, and the glass had disappeared into thin air. The boa had slithered out of its cage and into freedom, leaving a shell-shocked Dudley behind. The whole thing had enraged the whole Dursley family and earned Harry a great punishment, but he'd in fact been quite proud of himself.
Then there was this time when Dudley's gang had been chasing him and he, only wanting to get away, had somehow found himself on top of the school's roof. Or that time when one of Dudley's annoying friends, Malcolm, had caught Harry alone on the way home from school and tried to force him to lick dirt from the ground. Naturally Harry had refused, so Malcolm, who was a head taller than Harry and much stronger, had resorted to beating him with a stick. Harry had only concentrated on the desperate wish to make Malcolm hurt, too, and suddenly Malcolm had let go of Harry and was writhing on the floor in pain, screaming his lungs out. Fascinated, Harry had watched the scene before him, in full consciousness that he was the one causing it, until a couple of worried inhabitants came running, alerted by the screaming. They believed Malcolm was having some kind of fit, and the bully had been taken to the hospital where he had been found to be in perfect health. However, from then on Malcolm had tried to avoid Harry whenever possible, and the smaller boy, amazed at the possibility of being able to defend himself like that, had practiced.
When the neighbours' aggressive dog barked and growled at him from the other side of the fence, he concentrated the dog and on that unexplainable power of his, and thought of how wonderful it had felt to make Malcolm suffer, and indeed, the horrid dog fell victim to the same 'fit' that the boy had had. It never barked at Harry again.
Not wanting to get into any more trouble than necessary, he rarely used that ability of his, but was still more than happy to have it.
Anyway, a few days ago the first of these fateful letters had arrived. Harry had been sent to get the mail. Surprisingly, there had been a letter clearly addressed to him. That was so surprising, because Harry had never received a letter before, and he hadn't been able to imagine who might have sent it, or why. But before Harry could read it, Uncle Vernon had taken it from him. More letters had arrived. And more, in the strangest ways possible. But Uncle Vernon, entirely obsessed, had kept on taking more and more precautions to keep the letters away, and in the end even taken the family to hide in a shabby little hut on a small island in the sea the day before.
Precisely at midnight, someone had knocked heavily against the door. It turned out to be a giant man called Rubeus Hagrid. This man, appalled upon the fact that Harry hadn't already known, had confronted the newly eleven-year old with the fact that he was a wizard, and thus invited to attend a school for magic, Hogwarts. Hagrid was the school's gamekeeper, and had come on the headmaster's instructions to deliver Harry's acceptance letter. He explained that Harry's parents had been wizards as well, and how they had really died. Aunt Petunia had once told Harry that they had died in a car crash, but he had always known that that was not the true story. But he'd also known better than to ask any more questions.
According to Hagrid, though, a dark wizard named Voldemort had killed them. Then Voldemort had used the Killing Curse, which, as Hagrid explained, no one had ever survived yet, against Harry. The curse had backfired and, while not entirely killing Voldemort, taken his power and left the dark wizard with no choice but to flee. That was how Harry had gotten the scar on his forehead. He had been no older than a year at that time, but as he had miraculously caused Voldemort's downfall, he became a hero in the eyes of the Wizarding World.
In spite of Uncle Vernon's efforts to prevent it, Harry had eagerly accepted the invitation to the school, but nevertheless politely declined Hagrid's offer to accompany him to London to buy everything he needed, as always preferring to go on his own. So Hagrid merely gave Harry the directions, a small amount of money to pay for his little trip, a golden key that he would need to get his money from the wizarding bank, Gringotts, and the ticket for the train to the school.
After the two of them had left the island in a boat and reached the land, each of them went their own way.
That was how came Harry was walking through London right now and looking out for something. He hesitated a little in front of a small and shabby pub, noticing that none of the other people in the crowded street seemed to see to pub, eyed the sign over the door that said 'The Leaky Cauldron', then walked in.
Inside it was rather dark. When Harry entered, a few heads turned toward him. He observed a few old women who were sitting in a corner and drinking sherry, and a small man engaged talking to the old landlord behind the bar. This was definitely the place that Hagrid had told Harry to go to, but it didn't look any special or magical at all. A sinking feeling in his stomach, Harry closed the door behind him and took a few wary steps toward the bar.
"Excuse me, sir … I was wondering … I'm looking for Diagon Alley …", he doubtfully addressed the innkeeper.
The toothless man smiled and beckoned him to come closer. "Never been here before, have you? One moment and I'll show you, all right? Just have to …" The man froze and goggled at Harry. "My goodness … is that - can that -?"
Silence had fallen in the Leaky Cauldron.
"Harry Potter …", whispered the old man. "what an honour."
He hurried out from behind the bar and took Harry's hand with tears in his eyes. "Welcome home, Mr. Potter, welcome home."
Harry didn't know what to say. Everyone's eyes were on him. The old woman didn't notice that her pipe had extinguished. All of the guests wanted to shake Harry's hand now, one by one, some even several times. Doris Crockford couldn't get enough. One man, Dedalus Diggle, Harry recognized to have met before. Diggle had bowed to Harry in a shop once.
A pale young man with a terrible case of stuttering turned out to be Harry's Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Quirrel.
It took almost ten minutes until everyone had greeted Harry and he could go. Tom, the barkeeper led him into a small courtyard, pulled out a kind of stick that Harry guessed was a wand, and tapped it thrice against one of the bricks in the wall. From the wall emerged a large gateway that led to a crooked Alley.
"Welcome to Diagon Alley, Mr. Potter." Tom said. "Have a nice day!"
He gave Harry a pat on the back and left in the Alley to gape in awe at all the shops and people in sight. There were bookshops, robe shops, a shop that sold all kinds of cauldrons, an apothecary with the strangest … potions ingredients, maybe? … like dragon liver, bat spleens, and eel eyes, a store that sold only owls, and even one that seemed to offer brooms.
Hagrid had told him to go and retrieve money from Gringotts, the bank, before anything else. He had said that the Potters had left Harry their money. Gringotts was by far the highest building in the Alley, snow-white and with a shiny bronze gate. It was run by goblins. Harry had the impression that goblins were not the friendliest of creatures.
He stood at the counter and a goblin came and asked him what he wanted.
"I'm here to get money from my family's vault."
"What's your name then, and do you have a key, sir?"
"Harry Potter, and here's the key." Harry handed the goblin the small golden key that Hagrid had given him. The goblin examined it and then called for Griphook, another goblin.
Griphook led Harry through a door into a narrow dark tunnel. He whistled and a small cart came to them on rails that were embedded in the ground. They got into the cart and it sped down on the rails deeper into an entanglement of tunnels. Griphook didn't steer the cart. It moved by itself and also seemed to know the way.
Finally they stopped at a door in the wall that Griphook opened. What Harry saw inside took his breath away.
There were mounts of gold, silver and bronze coins. And all that was his. Harry had never in his life had any money that belonged to him, and now he stood before his own small fortune. Griphook explained to Harry that the coins were galleons, sickles and knuts.
Harry wasn't sure how much money he would need, but he pocketed what he guessed should be enough.
When he, after another ride back through the tunnels, was outside in the sunlight again, he decided to go to Madame Malkin's robe shop.
Madame Malkins was a smiling witch clad in violet all over. "Hogwarts, my dear?" she said as soon as she saw Harry. "I have everything prepared here, by the way there's another young man being fitted out here right now."
At the back of the shop stood a boy with a pale, pointed face on a stool while a second witch was taking his measurements. Madame Malkin started doing the same to Harry.
"Hello," said the boy. "Hogwarts, too?"
"Yes," said Harry.
"My father is next door buying the books, and mother is looking for wands," said the boy in bored voice. "Then I'll take them to buy me a racing broom. I don't see why first years shouldn't be allowed to have one. I think I'll get on my father's nerves so long till he buys me one, and then I'll smuggle it in somehow."
The boy reminded Harry strongly of Dudley.
"Do you have your own broom?" he continued.
"No."
"Do you even play Quidditch?"
"No," repeated Harry and wondered what the hell Quidditch could be.
"But I do – father says it would be a shame if I wouldn't be chosen to play for my house, and I must say, he's right. Do you already know which house you'll be in?"
"No," said Harry, trying to make the impression as though he knew what the blonde meant by 'what house'. What kind of houses? It probably had something to do with the school.
"Well, actually no one really knows before they go there, but I know that I'll be in Slytherin, our whole family was there. – Imagine you'd be in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, don't you?"
"Mmm," said Harry. He didn't have any idea what this boy was talking about, but thought he'd better keep that to himself – after all, he didn't want to make a fool of himself. He figured he'd find out later what all of this meant. Rather change the topic to something he felt a little more confident with. "Are you taking a familiar with you?" he asked the other boy.
"Yes, an owl." answered the boy. "That's the only way to go. I mean, really, who'd want a toad? Only losers have toads. And a cat's not much better, either." He sniggered.
The boy seemed like an arrogant spoilt brat to Harry, but he had decided to keep as polite and charming as he possibly could to anyone he met in the wizarding world. That couldn't be a bad thing, after all.
"Yeah, I think I'll get one, too." he mused. As wizards normally sent mail by owl, it could prove useful to have one. Although Harry didn't have anybody to write to …
"You better. Where are your parents, anyway?"
"They're dead."
"Oh, I'm sorry." The other boy didn't sound very much like it, but Harry didn't care anyway. "But they were of our kind, weren't they?"
"She was a witch and he was a wizard, if that's what you mean."
"I don't think the others should be accepted, do you? They've been educated differently than us and just don't belong. Imagine, some of them don't even know about Hogwarts until they get their letter. I believe that the old wizarding families should remain amongst each other. What's your surname, actually?"
Before Harry could answer, Madame Malkin interrupted to tell him she was finished. Harry jumped from his stool, but looked up at the boy. "Potter," he said quietly, as soon as Madame Malkin had turned her back on them again. After people's reactions to his name in the Leaky Cauldron, he had become hesitant to say his name aloud, but as the blond boy had asked, he deserved an answer. "And yours?"
"I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy," the blonde told him proudly, then … "but you're not HARRY Potter, are you?" He tried to catch a glimpse at Harry's forehead through the hair that Harry had purposefully draped over his scar. "Blimey, you ARE …"
"Er … yeah, that is so …" Harry stated uncomfortably. He hadn't been famous for even a day yet, but he already hated it. "Well, I have to buy my wand now. See you at Hogwarts, I guess."
"Oh, wait," said Malfoy, looking at Harry with newly found interest. "I need one too, and we can talk some more on the way."
"Sure," said Harry flatly. Inwardly he groaned, he didn't want company, and especially not this boy's.
Seemingly oblivious to the fact that his presence wasn't exactly welcome, Draco Malfoy walked next to Harry, with an air that suggested he owned the whole Alley. Or plainly that he was a stuck-up, rich kid, Harry figured.
"You will notice," said Malfoy, "that some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. And you wouldn't want to mess around with the wrong kind. I could help you there."
"Yeah, perhaps …" Harry disliked the boy, but thought it unwise to refuse him until he didn't know who this boy meant by 'the wrong kind'. He was positively sure that he would never be friends with Malfoy, but then again he wasn't going to drive away his first few contacts when he had just been thrown into a completely new world. It was true, he had yet to find out what the standards in this world were and whom it would pay off to treat nicely.
"Do you remember how your parents died?" asked Malfoy not very tactfully.
For a second Harry contemplated telling him to mind his own business, not really wanting to lead any deeper conversation with Malfoy, but then decided on the diplomatic way. "No, not really," he answered, "only that there was green light …"
"Green light? From a curse, maybe? I don't know, maybe that's what the Killing Curse looks like … my father would know, though. He knows a lot, you know, and he's a very important man at the ministry. He's even on very intimate terms with the minister himself, so we regularly have Fudge and his wife over for dinner …"
Harry thought about that. The killing curse? What exactly was the curse that had killed his parents, but not him, and was that really the cause of the green light that haunted his dreams? He wondered if he would get to know that at school … he realized more and more how much there was that he didn't know, really …
They had reached Ollivander's, Makers of fine wands since 382 B.C. Harry thought he couldn't bear any more excitement, a wand was what he had been looking forward to the most. All the things he could do once he had one …
A beautiful woman with long blond hair was already waiting in the shop.
"This is my mother, Narcissa Malfoy," introduced Draco. "Mother, this is Harry Potter."
"Pleasure to meet you," said Narcissa Malfoy arrogantly, extending her hand. She tried to hide that her eyes flickered to Harry's scar for a second, but Harry took notice anyway.
"The pleasure's all mine, Mrs Malfoy," said Harry and shook her hand with a friendly, though forced, smile. She nodded approvingly.
Suddenly an old man stepped out of the shadows. There was something about him that made Harry feel slightly cold. Harry guessed that he was the wand-maker, Mr Ollivander.
"Good afternoon," said the man in a soft voice. "Ah, yes. Thought you'd come, Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy."
Mr Ollivander approached them, looking at the three customers with pale silver eyes. "Mrs Malfoy, what a pleasure …" he addressed Draco's mother and elegantly kissed her hand. "Ash and unicorn hair, eleven inches, wasn't it?"
"Yes, that was it," answered Mrs Malfoy.
"So, let's start with young Mr. Malfoy here, then … which is your wand-hand?"
"Left, sir."
"Hold out your arm. Like this, very good." Mr Ollivander measured Malfoy all over, all the while talking about wands. Harry listened interestedly.
Then Malfoy had to wave a number of different wands, all made from various kinds of wood and containing dragon heartstring, unicorn hair, or phoenix feather. At first nothing at all seemed to happen. Harry wondered what the old wand-maker was actually waiting for, and was slowly becoming slightly impatient, until finally a shower of sparks emerged from the tip of the wand in Malfoy's hand. Harry stared in awe. Malfoy looked proud.
"Excellent, excellent!" exclaimed the Mr Ollivander, "Good wand you got there. Ten and a half inches, birch, dragon heartstring. That makes seven Galleons, Mr Malfoy."
Mrs Malfoy paid for her son's wand, but neither she nor Draco appeared in any way inclined to leave.
"Don't bother waiting for me," Harry told them, hoping they'd gratefully leave. "I'll be fine."
"No, no, my dear, that's okay, we don't mind at all," replied Mrs Malfoy, much to Harrys displeasure. He didn't feel like having an audience. So far, being famous was more annoying than anything else, seeing as he doubted very much that people like the Malfoys would be showing any interest in him if he weren't.
"Now to you, then, Mr Potter. Which is your wand-hand?"
"I'm right-handed, sir."
"Mr Ollivander took Harry's measurements, too, and shoved one wand after the other into his hand for him to wave.
Harry tried.
And tried.
Nothing happened.
Draco sat down on a chair. Harry oppressed a slightly content smile seeing that the young aristocrat was obviously getting tired. But Harry himself was also becoming worried … and very, very nervous … it was taking so long … maybe there was no wand that would fit him … what if there had been some kind of mistake? He was fairly sure that he'd done magic before, but maybe he wasn't good enough … any moment Mr Ollivander might tell him there was nothing he could do for him, and he should rather go back home …
"Difficult customer, eh?" said Ollivander, who seemed to become happier with every new wand that Harry tried.
When Harry thought he surely had to have tried almost every single wand in the shop, Mr Ollivander had an idea.
"I wonder …" he mused, "strange connection …" And he went into the back of the shop and brought back yet another wand.
Harry took it and a feeling of warmth spread through him. He lifted the wand and waved it. This time it gave a shower of green sparks and Mr Ollivander clapped.
"Curious," he said, "very curious indeed."
"Excuse me," said Harry, "but what is curious?"
"The phoenix that gave the feather for your wand gave one more feather, just one more. It's curious that this should be the wand that is meant for you, while its brother … while its brother gave you this scar."
Mrs Malfoy who had been listening attentively gasped. Her face was chalk-white and she stared at Harry in a mixture of awe and fear. Her son looked confused for a moment, then comprehended the wand-maker's words and went on to gaping like a fish.
"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Really curious, how things come together. The wand picks the wizard, remember … I think we have to expect great things from you, Mr Potter … After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has done great things, too … terrible, yes, but great."
Harry's stomach felt like it couldn't stop making back-flips. His worries had fallen off him, and been replaced by a feeling of triumph and excitement. He knew that he probably should still feel a bit worried or perhaps even upset, as his wand was connected to the one that belonged to his parents' murderer, but actually that only added to the excitement. He was itching to try to do magic with his wand.
Great things … terrible, but great …
Harry shuddered. He paid seven galleons for his wand and Mr Ollivander accompanied them to the door with a bow.
The three of them walked further along the street in silence. Harry kept his head down determinedly, but that didn't help him at all against the awkwardness as he felt the Malfoys' intent stares on him.
The snowy owl hooted in her cage.
Mrs Malfoy led them to Flourish and Blotts'. A man with in expensive-looking robes was already waiting there, a set of books in his hands. Harry figured he must be Draco's father. They both had the same light blond hair and silver eyes. And that attitude of wealth and power
"Ah, there you are now … what took you so long, Narcissa, dear? I have already collected Draco's books." Then he noticed Harry. "And who, if I may ask, would you be?"
"Harry Potter, sir." Harry spoke quietly, meeting the man's eyes. The man's face didn't betray the fact that he found anything special about that at all, instead his face was frozen into an icy mask and he radiated a cool air when he shook Harry's outstretched hand. But it didn't quite reach his eyes … Harry could almost see the mess of emotions and stray thoughts running free behind them.
This man's reaction was unlike that of anyone else Harry had met today. He couldn't exactly explain why he was so sure of that, but he had the distinct feeling that Lucius Malfoy associated the Boy-Who-Lived with something other than the salvation of the wizarding world.
The older man was the first to turn his gaze away uncomfortably. "Lucius Malfoy." His tone sounded even more arrogant his wife's.
"Father, I want a racing broom now, there's the new Nimbus 2000 out now and …" Draco said in a commanding voice, greatly reminding Harry of Dudley.
His mother cut him off angrily. "Not so fast, my boy, you haven't even started your first year, and brooms are not allowed before second year, and with a good reason, I must say …"
"But father promised …"
This time his father was the one to interrupt. "I promised nothing more than to think about it. But your mother is quite right, actually. They wouldn't let you fly on it at school, anyway. You can have a broom next year."
Draco looked like he was going to protest, but then thought better of it.
Narcissa broke the silence. "Well, then, I think you have got everything then, Draco, don't you?" She turned to Harry. "I'm sorry, but I think we should get home now, you certainly did take your time with your wand … of course, it was quite interesting to watch, though. I'd love to accompany you till you're finished, but we have important guests for dinner and I haven't prepared anything yet …" She looked a little worried.
"Oh, I can get my stuff quite well on my own, that's no problem at all. I wish you a pleasant dinner. I'm glad I met you and your family, hopefully we meet again sometime soon."
"Yeah, in any case we'll meet on the train," said Draco.
They said goodbye and the Malfoys departed. Harry noticed Mrs Malfoy whispering something to her husband as soon as they were out of earshot. Something was probably about him, as they turned around for one last look at him.
Shrugging it off, Harry began looking in Flourish and Blotts' for the books he would need for school.
He didn't have much trouble finding them, but remained looking through as many of the other books in the shop as he possibly could. He was completely enthralled. Everywhere he looked plenty of highly interesting titles sprung to his eye. He refrained from spending all his money at once, but couldn't resist buying a few books more than necessary.
In the end, he left the shop laden with 'Hogwarts: A History', 'The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts' (Harry had actually spotted his own name in the book when he'd skipped through it) 'Jinxes and Counter-Jinxes' by Professor Vindictus Viridian, 'The Most Basic Facts about Wizarding History of the Twentieth Century' by Frances Ferrault, 'Useful Charms for Every Situation' by Eric Anderson, 'Most Potente Potions' (which looked quite difficult, but nevertheless intriguing), 'Practical Defensive Magic' by Cain Holmes, "Invent Your Own Spells: A Beginner's Guide' by Mara Mongo, and a second-hand filthy grey book without a title that Harry thought was probably a relict from the middle ages, the way it looked. (He had no idea why he had picked it up in the first place, it had seemed to him almost as though the book had been calling out to him, but he could only shake his head at that thought. It was a book, and books didn't have a mind of their own.)
Next Harry bought the potions ingredients, the cauldron and everything else required. Carrying all his new things was getting pretty hard. So he went back to the Leaky Cauldron in order to get to Muggle London.
It had already started to dusk when he, after a hearty goodbye from Tom, had arrived at the station and entered the train that would bring him back to the Dursleys.
His head was spinning with thoughts about all the new impressions and experiences that he'd had that day, and his heart was filled with joy and anticipation and a burning desire to learn magic as soon as possible as he looked out of the window, observing the changes in landscape as Surrey was drawing closer with every minute.
He couldn't wait to get to Hogwarts.
A/N: Firstly, in case you're wondering, Draco and Harry will NOT become friends.
Secondly, I apologize for any spelling or grammar mistakes, but seeing as English is a language I have for the most part only learned at school, my English is not perfect. If you notice mistakes, however, just point them out to me.
I hope you like it so far; please do share with me any thoughts, opinions, questions, suggestions or criticism. If you feel like it, write an essay on how much my writing sucks. But take care to tell me the reasons why you think so, I really want to improve. Make me happy. Leave a review.