The weeks after Zain's 11th birthday in July 1991 buzzed with a restless energy, the Hogwarts letter a constant presence since its arrival at Selwyn Manor. His recent success with the magical games and the strategic backing of Cornelius Fudge had bolstered his family's standing, but the prospect of Hogwarts loomed larger. Late July 1991 bathed the manor in a warm, golden glow, the sun streaming through the grand parlor's tall windows. Silk drapes framed a polished oak table adorned with family heirlooms, and a steady fireplace crackled softly, its light dancing on the stone walls. Eleanor, his mother, entered with a purposeful stride, her emerald robes catching the firelight.
"Zain, with your letter in hand, it's time we head to Diagon Alley for your Hogwarts supplies. We'll make sure you're fully equipped."
Zain, still mulling over the lantern-making session with Luna that had sparked a new connection, felt a thrill of anticipation. He adjusted his posture, his voice firm with excitement.
"Yes, Mother. I'm looking forward to seeing it all and getting ready."
They approached the grand fireplace, its stone mantel etched with Selwyn crests, a symbol of their lineage. Eleanor handed Zain a pinch of Floo powder, its fine grains glinting in the light. With a shared toss into the flames, a flash of green enveloped them, and they stepped into the Leaky Cauldron. The pub greeted them with a lively din, its worn wooden tables crowded with wizards sipping butterbeer and exchanging tales. The air was thick with the scent of aged wood and spilled ale, and the clink of glasses punctuated the chatter. Eleanor, with her usual grace, wove through the throng, leading Zain to a secluded courtyard at the back.
The brick wall, weathered and ordinary, stood as their portal. Eleanor tapped it with her wand in a precise sequence—three up, two across—and the bricks parted, revealing Diagon Alley. The street unfolded like a magical marketplace, its cobblestones worn smooth by centuries of footsteps. Shops lined the path, their signs swaying—Flourish and Blotts with its towering book stacks, the Apothecary with its pungent aromas, and Ollivanders with its enigmatic silence. Children darted between stalls, their laughter mingling with the calls of street vendors selling trinkets, while the air carried a blend of parchment, potion herbs, and the faint clang of cauldrons.
Their first stop was Gringotts, a majestic marble structure dominating the alley, its white facade gleaming under the sun. Goblin sentries stood guard, their sharp eyes scanning every entrant, their presence a silent deterrent. Inside, the vast hall echoed with the clink of coins and the shuffle of hurried feet. Eleanor approached a counter, her voice steady as she requested Galleons from the Selwyn vault. Zain stood beside her, watching a goblin count the gold with meticulous care, the stacks rising like small towers. His curiosity nudged him forward.
"Mother, will this be enough for all my purchases—books, robes, the wand, and maybe an owl?"
Eleanor turned, her smile reassuring.
"More than enough, Zain. We'll cover everything on your list and a little extra. Let's start with the books."
They left Gringotts, the weight of the coin pouch a tangible promise, and entered Flourish and Blotts. The shop was a haven of knowledge, its shelves sagging under leather-bound tomes, dust motes swirling in the sunlight from grimy windows. The faint rustle of pages turning filled the air as Zain navigated the aisles. He selected The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1, A History of Magic, and Magical Theory, his fingers lingering on the textured covers. A shop assistant, a wiry man with ink-stained fingers, approached with a grin.
"First year, eh? Those are solid picks. Need help with anything else?"
Zain shook his head, his tone polite.
"No, thank you. I've got what I need for now."
Eleanor joined him, her voice approving.
"Well chosen, Zain. These will give you a strong foundation."
They moved to Madam Malkin's Robes, a bright shop where uniformed mannequins stood like silent sentinels. The hum of sewing charms and the clatter of pins dropping onto the floor created a rhythmic backdrop. Zain stepped onto a stool, and Madam Malkin, a stout woman with a measuring tape draped around her neck, began fitting him with black robes. The fabric settled against his frame, snug yet allowing movement, and she adjusted the hem with a flick of her wand.
"You'll look proper, young sir. A fine fit for Hogwarts," she said, stepping back to admire her work.
Eleanor paid, her eyes gleaming with pride.
"You'll stand out, Zain. These robes will carry the Selwyn name well."
Their next stop was the Apothecary, a dim store where glass jars lined the walls, filled with dried newts, powdered roots, and shimmering beetle eyes. The air was heavy with the scent of earth and chemicals, and the faint drip of a leaking vial echoed softly. Zain selected his items—vials of beetle eyes, a silver dagger for cutting ingredients, and a small pouch of moonstone powder—carefully placing them in his basket. A shopkeeper, a stooped man with a hooked nose, offered a crooked smile.
"Careful with that moonstone, lad. It's potent in the wrong hands."
Eleanor oversaw the selection, her tone cautious.
"Be gentle with those, Zain. They're breakable, and we don't want a mishap."
The highlight of the day was Ollivanders, a narrow shop that seemed to lean under the weight of its history. Dusty shelves stretched to the ceiling, each holding wand boxes stacked with precision, and the air was still, broken only by the occasional creak of the floorboards. Mr. Ollivander, a gaunt figure with pale, piercing eyes, emerged from the shadows, his voice a whisper.
"Mr. Selwyn, a name with a legacy. Let's find your wand."
Zain extended his hand, and Ollivander began the ritual. He tested a series of wands—ash with dragon heartstring, too aggressive; elm with unicorn hair, too gentle. Each swish sent a shower of sparks or a faint thud, but none felt right. Then, Ollivander handed him an 11-inch yew wood wand with Thestral tail hair as the core. The moment Zain gripped it, a shiver ran through him, dark sparks spiraling upward like shadows dancing in the dim light. The wand seemed to pulse, alive with an eerie energy. Ollivander's eyes narrowed, a rare smile breaking his stern demeanor.
"An unusual choice, Mr. Selwyn. Yew with Thestral tail hair—tied to death and the unseen. A wand for one who perceives beyond the veil. Twelve Galleons."
Eleanor paid, her voice warm with pride.
"It's a unique fit, Zain. It suits your depth."
As they stepped into the alley, a minor commotion caught their attention. A girl with bushy brown hair and her Muggle parents were near a stall, where a crate of magical fireworks had tipped, sending a few sputtering rockets into the air. The vendor, a flustered man in a striped apron, waved his wand to contain the sparks. Hermione Granger, her voice tinged with curiosity, called out as the last rocket fizzled.
"Are you going to Hogwarts too? What was that explosion? Is it normal here?"
Zain nodded politely, stepping closer to assess the situation.
"Yes, first year. I'm Zain Selwyn. That was just a mishap with fireworks—not usual, but not rare either. They're enchanted for celebrations."
Hermione's eyes widened, her tone quickening with interest.
"Fireworks that move on their own? How do they work? Are there other magical things like that?"
Eleanor stepped in, her tone welcoming.
"I'm Eleanor Selwyn, Zain's mother. Those fireworks are powered by charmwork. We'll show you around to see more."
Hermione's father, a tall man with wire-rimmed glasses, nodded uncertainly, brushing ash from his sleeve.
"Thank you. This is all so bewildering."
Zain led them to Flourish and Blotts, the shop's interior a maze of knowledge. He pointed to the spellbook section, his voice steady.
"Here are the books you'll need. They're enchanted—some have moving pictures to teach you."
Hermione leaned in, her curiosity unabated.
"Moving pictures? Do they explain spells, or is it just decoration? What about Potions?"
"They illustrate spells step-by-step," Zain explained. "Potions books have diagrams that shift to show brewing techniques."
They guided the Grangers to Madam Malkin's, Hermione firing another question.
"What about the robes? Are they magical, or just fancy? How do you wash them?"
"The robes are spelled for durability, not magic themselves," Zain said. "You use a Scourgify charm to clean them—simple but effective."
As they walked, a street performer nearby juggled flaming torches, drawing a small crowd. Hermione paused, her voice eager.
"What's that? Is it magic too?"
"Just a skilled wizard," Zain replied. "No wand needed—pure talent."
Her mother, a soft-spoken woman with a kind smile, interjected.
"This is amazing. Thank you for the tour."
Eleanor offered a gentle nod.
"Our pleasure. Safe travels, Hermione."
System: Relationship with Hermione Granger increased to 12%.
The Grangers moved toward Ollivanders, their steps more assured. Zain and Eleanor continued to the menagerie, a cozy shop filled with the hoots of owls and the rustle of feathers. Zain browsed the cages, finally selecting an owl with sharp amber eyes, its gaze steady and wise. He offered it a treat, feeling a bond form. Eleanor paid, her voice soft.
"A fine companion, Zain. He'll be a great help at Hogwarts."
Later, as they rested at a small café in the alley, Eleanor shared a memory.
"Your father and I came here when I was your age. He picked a raven—never shut up about it."
Zain chuckled, imagining the scene.
"I'll make sure mine's quieter."
Their day drew to a close, the alley's energy softening as the sun dipped. Bags laden with supplies, Zain clutched his yew wand, its Thestral core hinting at unseen paths ahead.