They had driven for two hours in order to reach their destination. Harry wondered why they didn't just Apparate. He knew his mother could do it. She told him so when he asked her. But when he asked her why they drove in a car to go to Diagon Alley, she said it would be too dangerous to Apparate with him. Harry was too young and unfamiliar with that kind of transportation. It was far harder to Apparate with a passenger, his mother said, and with the things they would buy, it was out of the question to make two Apparitions in a single day, especially since his mother was no longer used to Apparate as she used to.
So they had to take the long way. When his mother parked their car in a small street, she yawned while she activated the hand brake. And she yawned again as they got out of the car.
"Are you alright, Mom?" Harry asked her as he closed the car door on his side.
"Yes. I'm just a little tired from yesterday. I guess your mother is not as young as she used to be."
"You want me to tell you that you're old?" Harry asked playfully.
This earned him a finger blow on the head. He rubbed his skull where his mother did this, both laughing in the process. "Have some respect for your old mom, young man. Now, let's go. The Leaky Cauldron is only five minutes away, but we have no time to lose."
"Says the woman who's too afraid to Apparate."
"We'll talk about this the day you will perform the Apparition yourself. Now, let's walk. As I said, we have no time to spare."
She yawned again as they proceeded on their way. His mother had been like this ever since she woke up. In fact, it was Harry who woke her up this morning. Her alarm didn't succeed at doing so. It had been ringing for minutes and his mother was still sound asleep when he walked into her bedroom. Harry had to shake her for probably a whole minute before she opened her eyes. He prepared coffee for her at breakfast, but even this did little to shake her up. She had been yawning all the way long in the car, and she continued now as they walked along the streets of London. His mother really was exhausted by yesterday.
Harry, on the other, felt fresh as if he had slept the whole day before. He was excited. He had never been to the Leaky Cauldron, or Diagon Alley, or Hogwarts, or Hogsmeade, or the Ministry of Magic. He had never been to any place of the magic world, except one: Godric's Hollow, where he and his mother travelled every year to visit his father's tomb. And even then, they didn't see anything from the world of magic in this village, remaining of the Muggle side. Today would be the first day he would be actually introduced to this world in person.
"There it is," his mother said, looking at a tiny, grubby-looking pub. Harry would never have noticed it had his mother not stopped there. And yet, Harry had seen pictures of it. The Leaky Cauldron looked much better in his books. No one else in the streets seemed to notice the existence of this place. His mother opened its entrance door and they walked in.
Harry wasn't sure what he expected from the interior of the Leaky Cauldron, but certainly not this. The place was small and dark, and it stank of tobacco and other unpleasant odors Harry didn't recognize. His mother produced a big hat from her purse and put it on her head as soon they were in. Harry noticed how she lowered the front edge, as if she wanted to hide her face from the world. They quickly walked through the pub, only the barman seeming to notice her.
"Can I give you something, Mrs?"
"No thanks. We're late for Diagon Alley."
She accelerated her footsteps, seizing Harry by the arm to make sure he followed her pace. Harry found it annoying. They stepped into a small walled courtyard in the back of the bar, with nothing but a couple of dustbins.
"That's the Leaky Cauldron?" Harry asked her once in the courtyard.
"Yes. It doesn't look like much, but many wizards come here. And it is an entrance to Diagon Alley for many who cannot Apparate or use Floo Powder. It's more practical as a way to enter. We don't end up with chimney dust over our clothes or take the risk of Apparating somewhere people wouldn't want us to."
As she spoke, she took a cloak from her purse that she put on her shoulders. Harry was surprised that so much could fit into his mother's purse. She then brought her hair together behind her neck to make a bun, which she attached with a single movement from her wand. Harry never saw his mother attach her hair before. She always kept her black, red hair free, falling on her shoulders. This gave her another appearance. Just as she brought the final touch to her transformation, if you could call it that way, a little man with a purple hat and a dark robe entered the courtyard.
"Lily! What a pleasure to see you after all these years!"
Harry's mother looked at the man, then smiled. "Dedalus. It's good to see you again."
"Oh, how many years have passed?" he continued as he approached them by hopping. "I'm so glad I was here. You went through the pub so quickly, I almost missed you. And this must be Harry."
He looked at Harry, then back at his mother, all excited. When she nodded, it was as if he was about to burst in excitement. He immediately seized Harry's right hand with both of his and started shaking it uncontrollably. "Delighted, Mr Potter, just can't tell you. Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle. Surely your mother must have mentioned me. We were very goods friends in the time."
The name was vaguely familiar to Harry. He thought he heard it before, but he couldn't remember if it was his mother who mentioned it. When the man's hat fell off, Harry recognized him. "I've seen you before! In a supermarket. You bowed to me."
"He remembers!" As Harry said he had seen him before, the man cried. He looked at Harry's mother. "Did you hear that, Lily? He remembers me!"
"Of course, he does. My son is a smart boy," his mother intervened, causing Harry's cheeks to redden. "I'm really sorry, Dedalus, but we have a very busy day. We must buy Harry's books and equipment for Hogwarts."
"Oh, of course. I had almost forgotten he had just turned eleven. Wonderful! You will see, Harry. Hogwarts is a marvelous place. You'll have the best teachers in the world..."
"Thank you, Dedalus, but we really have to go."
"Of course, of course. I'm not bothering you any longer. It was so good to see you again, Lily, and you too, Mr Potter. I wish you a very good day. Really, a very good day."
He shook Harry's hand again vigorously. Harry thought he would never stop, but Dedalus finally left after a few other bows and good wishes. When he was gone, Harry looked at his mother, who looked somewhat embarrassed, but also amused.
"Who was that?" he asked.
"Dedalus Diggle," she answered, something Harry already knew. "He was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, like your father and I. He brought some cheer at our reunions," she added with a nervous smile.
"I guess."
"I told you, Harry. You're famous in this world. This... is the kind of things you must expect wherever you'll say your name. That's why you should avoid saying it the most you can. In any case, if someone asks your name, just answer Harry. They may not recognize you."
"Why should I hide who I am?" Harry asked, somewhat annoyed. His mother was fantastic, but she could be overprotective sometimes.
"Because it will make things easier for you. You don't want people running after you or judging you by the fact your name is known by everyone in the world. And telling who you are didn't work very well among Muggles either. Remember when you told your teammates you were a wizard."
Not this again. "It was a mistake."
"Yes, it was. So don't repeat the same mistakes in both worlds."
He hated it when she reminded him this episode. Maybe a few months after his mother told him about his true origins and Harry had begun to play football, he told another boy of the team who he got along well that he was a wizard. The boy immediately reported it to the rest of their comrades, and Harry became the laughingstock of the team. Wizard became his nickname. No one actually believed he was a wizard, of course, and when his mother learned of what he had done, she berated him like she never did before or after. The nickname stuck, and though at first it bothered Harry, with time it became a reference to his skills on the terrain. His coach once said his ability to take the ball from the other team no matter the circumstances was nothing less than magic.
His mother tapped a specific brick on the wall three times. It quivered, moved on itself, and the other bricks started to move too, creating a hole in the center that grew until it formed an archway large enough for four people to walk through it shoulder by shoulder. And on the other side...
"Welcome, Harry, to Diagon Alley," his mother said.
Harry couldn't help but smile at the sight that offered itself to his eyes. Along a cobbled street of grey stones, lines of shops with vivid colors and built in such a way he never imagined buildings like these could hold on their own. There were people in robes, cloaks and hats walking all around, their arms full of huge leather books, bottles filled with liquid he had no idea what they were, cages with owls, cats, rats and toads inside, brooms, cauldrons. Harry had never seen such an animated street, and he had never seen such a place. How could the Leaky Cauldron be so gloomy and Diagon Alley so full of life?
As they progressed through the alley, Harry tried to not miss anything, but it was hard, given how much there was to see. From the people shopping to the objects and products exposed in front of the stores. There was even one with many boys who were about Harry's age glued to the windows, looking at brooms. There was a sign announcing their latest addition to their inventory, the Nimbus Two Thousand. Harry wished first years could own a broom at Hogwarts. Life was unfair sometimes.
"We should get your uniforms first," his mother said, pointing a shop with a sign where you could read Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. This brought him out of his trance. "I'll have to leave you there alone for a moment. I'll use the time to go at Gringotts to get some money."
"Can't I follow you at Gringotts?" This bank was a very mysterious place and Harry was eager to see it.
"No, Harry. We have too much to do today and a long road ahead of us to return home. It will take some time for Madam Malkin to adjust your robes. I'm sorry, my dear. Perhaps you'll get to see Gringotts next year."
Harry wad disappointed, but he didn't say anything. He wasn't a spoiled child like his cousin Dudley who cried and screamed every time he didn't get what he wanted so that his parents would give it to him. That was one of the things he hated the most with his cousin, and why he was glad they seldom visited his mother's sister.
They entered the shop, where they were met with a squat, smiling woman dressed in mauve.
"Hogwarts, dear?" she asked before Harry or his mother could say anything.
"Yes," his mother replied. She had his list of material with her. "We need three..."
"I know. First year, it's plain from the look of him. I'll take care of everything. Got the lot here. Another young man being fitted up just now, in fact."
"Thank you. Could you please keep an eye on my son for me? I'll be back in an instant."
"Of course, Mrs...?"
"Evans. Lily Evans."
"Of course, Mrs Evans."
His mother turned to him. "I'll be back soon."
As always, she ruffled his hair before she left. It was annoying sometimes, but Harry would lie if he said he hated it.
"Come here, boy," Madam Malkin said, pointing to a stool. Harry stepped on it and she slipped a long robe over his head, beginning to arrange it to his height right away.
"Hello. Hogwarts too?" said the boy next to him. He was on another stool, with another robe. The boy was about Harry's age. He had a pale and pointed face with very blond hair.
"Yes," Harry replied.
"My father is next door buying my books and Mother is up the street looking at wands," the boy said. "I'll probably drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first-years can't have their own." On that, Harry couldn't agree more. "I think I'll bully Father into getting me one and I'll smuggled it somehow."
Harry wasn't that warm to the idea. Although it was very tempting to have a broom at Hogwarts, he knew his mother would never want him to get in trouble. And he wouldn't want her to get in trouble because of him if she bought him a broom and he somehow found a way to bring it inside Hogwarts. Her mother had been very clear that rules were very strictly enforced in Hogwarts.
"Have you got your own broom?" the boy asked.
"No. My mother allows me to fly on one of my father's old brooms sometimes, but we must be careful to not attract the attention of Muggles when we do."
"Muggles." The blond boy said the word with such disdain that Harry disliked him right away. "Play Quidditch at all?"
"No," he replied, regretful. Playing Quidditch was one of the things he was the most excited about, but he would have to wait his second year before he attempts to join a team. He judged it was better to not say he played football.
"I do. Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"
"No." But he suspected which house this boy would choose.
"Well, no one really knows until they get here. But I know I'll be in Slytherin." His suspicions were well-founded. "All our family have been. Imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"
"I guess there are worst things in life," Harry replied cautiously.
"Maybe." The boy shrugged. "Still, even if I was chosen for Hufflepuff, I'd find a way to Slytherin all the same. If only to avoid Mudbloods."
"OUCH!"
Madam Malkin had accidentally stung Harry with one of her pins. "We don't say those words here, boy," she said, outraged.
"Sorry, madam." Harry didn't miss that the boy wasn't sorry at all. He sent a wink to Harry. "Some people don't like this word. By the way, I'm Draco Malfoy."
Harry opened his mouth in stunning. He knew that name from his reading and his godfather Sirius. The Malfoys were an ancient and rich family of wizards who sided with Voldemort when he was alive. After his death, they claimed they were manipulated and submitted to spells that forced them to serve the man who murdered Harry's father. In this very instant, Harry found it quite unlikely, judging from the way this Draco spoke. He was probably the son of Lucius Malfoy, an important Death Eater and servant of Voldemort, and of Narcissa Black, a cousin of Sirius, who he always hated.
"But what's your surname? Where are your parents?" Malfoy asked.
"My mother is at Gringotts right now."
"And your father?"
"He's dead."
"Of, sorry." The other didn't sound sorry at all. "But they were our kind, weren't they?"
"My father was a wizard, and my mother is a witch, if that's what you mean."
"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same. They've never been brought up to know our ways." Harry felt anger boiling inside of him. His mother had grown up in a family of Muggles. He may not have liked her sister and her family, and maybe Harry didn't have many friends among Muggles, but he had grown among them. And the way he used the term Mudblood... Draco Malfoy continued, unaware of his reactions or ignoring them. "Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. But you didn't tell me your surname, didn't you?"
"My mother's name is Evans."
Malfoy seemed to dig into his brain, searching if he ever heard that name. Harry doubted it. He retained the family name of his father, but his mother used her maiden name so that people would take less notice. She was the first Evans to be a witch, and probably the last.
"Tells me nothing," Draco said in the end.
"That's you done, my dear," Madam Malkin told Malfoy all of a sudden. Harry felt relieved he didn't need to talk any longer to that boy.
"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," he said before he left the shop. Harry hoped not, but considering they were both first years, this was unlikely. Given how badly this Draco Malfoy wanted to go into Slytherin, and if all his peers were like him, Harry hoped he wouldn't end up in this house.
It took some time to Madam Malkin to arrange all his robes. When she was done, Harry's mother had not come back yet. When Harry told Madam Malkin that he had no money and his mother was gone to get some, she seemed upset, but she only told him to wait here until his mother was back. Which she was within five minutes. The first thing Madam Malkin did was to ask her to pay.
"It's not going to cost too much?" he was asking his mother later, as they walked in the street, his robes in a bag.
"Don't worry. We have more than enough to pay for your admission fees and your school materials. Now, let's see what we have left to buy."
"Mom, there's a boy I met in Madam Malkin's shop. His name was Draco Malfoy."
This attracted his mother's attention. "The son of Lucius of and Narcissa Malfoy?"
"Yes, I think so."
"And? Anything good he had to say?
"Nothing good. He spent the time boasting about how good he was at everything... and how children from Muggles' families should not be accepted at Hogwarts."
He was afraid of the reaction it might cause to her mother, but she just sighed in exasperation. "Like father, like son. I shouldn't be surprised."
"He... He used the M word."
His mother remained silent for a while. "Tell me you didn't punch him in the face."
"No. But I wish I did."
His mother muffled a laugh. "These are only words. They cannot hurt us. You'd better ignore people like him. Their master is gone, they are powerless today." She deferred her attention back to her list. "So, you need a cauldron in pewter, standard size 2..."
They went on their shopping, stopping at Flourish and Blotts for his books, and in many other shops along the way. His mother had to almost drag him out of several shops. She also bought an animal for Harry, a beautiful snowy owl he named Hedwig. She said it would allow them to write to each other while he was at Hogwarts. She only yawned occasionally now.
"Why don't you have an owl?" he asked her.
"Our owl died the night..." She didn't need to say more. Harry knew it was hard for her to speak of the night his father died. She only talked about it when necessary.
The day was getting at its end and there was only one item left on their list.
"Ah, here's Ollivanders. Time to get you a wand, my dear."
The shop in question was narrow and shabby, with a dusty front. You couldn't see through the windows. Gold letters over read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC.
A bell rang when they entered the dark shop. Lily approached the counter and knocked on it several times.
"I know you're here, Mr Ollivander," she said clearly.
A movable staircase came out from one of the rows behind the counter, with an old man standing on top of it. He had wide, pale eyes that shined in the darkness of the shop. His teeth shined as well when he smiled the moment he laid his eyes on Harry's mother.
"Lily Evans. I was afraid I would never see you again." He climbed down the stairs, then looked at Harry. "And this must Harry Potter."
It was the first time today that someone said his full name. It had a strange effect on Harry. Not because he said his full name, but because of the way he said it, with admiration and wonder. Harry never found anything particular to his name. It was common to his eyes.
"Hello," Harry said awkwardly.
"So, let's get to work, to find you the wand you need." He went behind in the rows, where all sorts of long boxes were piled in a way that defied any sort of organization. "It seems only yesterday, Lily, that you were here yourself, buying your first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."
"It was my first and only wand," Harry's mother said. "I still use it today."
"Wonderful. James, on the other hand, chose a mahogany wand. Eleven inches, pliable, a little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say he chose it, but it is really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course. I regret this wand was not enough to save his life."
Mr Ollivander came back from behind the back of the store with one of those small boxes Harry saw everywhere. He didn't know how he could distinguish them from one another.
"Here we are." He handed the wand to Harry, only to take it away the instant Harry would take it. "But I forgot something. I'm definitely getting older. Which is your wand arm?"
"Well, I'm right-handed," Harry answered, uncertain. He looked to his mother for advice, but she just nodded the head.
"Hold out your arm."
Ollivander first measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then from wrist to elbow, and on both arms. Soon, the tape measured on its own, going as far as to measure the outline of his ears and the width of his feet, not to mention the length of his nails. Ollivander was back far in his shop.
"That will do," Mr Ollivandre finally said.
The tape just fell into a pile on the floor. The wandmaker came back soon with another wand, and this time, when he handed it to Harry, he let him take it.
"Beechwood and unicorn hair, nine and a half inches, flexible. Give it a wave."
Harry had seen his mother use her wand quite often, but even then, he never really took notice about how she handled it. He wasn't sure at all about how to proceed. Under her gaze and that of Mr Ollivander, he waved the wand around, feeling foolish. Mr Ollivander took the wand away from him almost right away.
"No, it's not this one."
He gave another wand to Harry, this one with dragon heartstring, with the same end result. Harry got the impression he had tried dozens, maybe over two hundred wands. His mother used the time Ollivander was at the back of his shop looking for yet another to tell him it was always like that with Ollivander. He looked after the perfect wand for any wizard until he had found it, even if it had to take the whole night. That was why they waited until the end of the day to come here.
Night was slowly falling outside, and Harry wondered how much time yet it would take to find the right wand. He didn't have the slightest idea how Ollivander could determine, after barely a fraction of a second within Harry's hand, that a wand wasn't made for him. There were so many wands piled up on the counter that many were falling on the floor now. Even Harry's mother began to seem bored.
"A tricky customer, you are, Mr Potter. We will find the right wand. It's here, somewhere."
After Ollivander said such, Harry went through another dozen of failed attempts. Then the wandmaker went to take another box. But this time, he hesitated.
"I wonder..." He returned slowly, and this time, when he handed the wand to Harry, he did it very carefully, as if he believed the wand was made of crystal. "Holly. Phoenix feather. Eleven inches. Nice and supple."
Harry expected another failed attempt. The excitement of the day was almost completely gone and replaced by tiredness. He wanted a wand, of course, but... He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers the moment he seized the handle of the wand. He made one movement, and a stream of gold and red sparks came out of it.
"It seems like we finally found the right one. Thank you, Mr Ollivander," his mother said.
But Mr Ollivander didn't look like he heard her. "How curious. How very curious..."
Harry was dumbfounded. He still had the wand in his hand. "Sorry, but what is curious?"
He looked at Harry's mother, then back to Harry, a pale expression on his face. "I remember every wand I've ever sold and to who I sold. And the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather. Only one other. It is very curious that this wand be destined to you. Her sister... belonged to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."
His mother gasped. Harry was stunned. He looked at the wand in his hand. But despite the feeling of revulsion he felt for a moment, he couldn't throw it away. The feeling disappeared almost instantly.
"I sold this wand myself," Ollivander continued. "Had I known what that wand would do in the world... But if this wand chose you... I think we must expect great things from you."
All of a sudden, Ollivander looked away. Harry looked at his mother who Ollivander was also staring at. Her eyes were throwing daggers.
"I'm sorry," the old man said hastily. He seized the wand and put it back into its box, wrapping it in brown paper. When Ollivander handed it back, Harry hesitated to take it. He looked at his mother, who told him to take it from a head sign. And they left the shop.
Some time later, they were in the car, with everything Harry needed for the beginning of the term, on their way back home. They remained silent for a large part of the journey. Harry wasn't sure what to think of all this himself, and he had no idea what his mother was thinking right now. What did she think of the fact that her son ended up with a wand that was related to the very wand that killed his father?
Harry wasn't able to support this silence any longer. Within less than a month, he would leave for Hogwarts, and he hated it when he and his mother didn't speak.
"What did Mr Ollivander mean, when he expected great things from me?"
"I don't know," his mother replied, her eyes firmly on the road. "I don't know why he said that."
It took some more time for Harry to break the silence again. "Are you angry at me?"
She abruptly turned her head to look at him. "Of course not. Why would I be?" She returned her gaze to the road ahead but continued talking. "It's the wand that chose, Harry. Just like mine chose me many years ago. There was a single chance in a million that it would pick you. I guess it just happened to fall on that chance." She took a deep breath. "Look. Voldemort didn't make this wand. They just have a feather that happens to come from the same bird. This doesn't mean anything."
Somehow, Harry felt she was trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to convince him. After some time, however, they went to speak about more mundane topics, and about the other purchases they made today. Harry had put aside the matter of the wand when they arrived at home. When he got to bed, he needed some time to find sleep, but he did manage to find it. And he didn't make any nightmares.