When Harry stepped out of Madam Malkin's, the sun over Diagon Alley was blazing. The puddles on the cobblestones steamed faintly under the heat, and the air carried the sugary scent drifting from Honeydukes.
He clenched the money pouch in his pocket and headed straight toward Flourish and Blotts. He needed to get his textbooks first.
The shop was crowded—mostly first-years like him, weaving between shelves while clutching piles of thick books.
Harry squeezed through the crowd, searching for each title on the list: A History of Magic, Theories of Magic, Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration… The covers were exactly as he remembered from his previous life—rough parchment texture, gold-embossed letters, heavy in the hands.
He reached up toward One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi on the top shelf. His fingers brushed the spine just as someone nearby said:
"Look, The Life of Albus Dumbledore! I heard it's full of secrets he never told anyone!"
"Really? But Professor Dumbledore's the greatest wizard ever, isn't he?"
Harry froze for half a second. His gaze slid to the garish book on the next shelf—the black cover printed with Dumbledore's portrait, but the eyes were oddly cold.
He'd never paid attention to this sort of book in his first life. But now, just hearing the name Dumbledore felt like a needle driving straight into his heart—hatred laced with a chill.
He inhaled sharply, tore his gaze away, hugged the herbology book to his chest, and turned to leave—
He couldn't hesitate. Couldn't reveal anything.
Dumbledore's name was a taboo now; touching it scraped open the blood-soaked memories of the Forbidden Forest.
After paying, Harry stepped out of the shop with a stack of textbooks that made his arms ache.
He found a corner, stuffed the books into the old canvas bag Hagrid had given him, zipped it halfway, then suddenly remembered—
He still needed a wand.
Ollivander's was nearby. Its black sign read:
Ollivander's
Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 B.C.
The paint was faded, giving the shop a worn, ancient look.
Harry paused at the door, hesitating—
In his previous life, this was where he had received his holly wand with the phoenix feather core.
The one that followed him through countless battles.
He pushed the door open.
The shop smelled of sawdust and old parchment. The lighting was dim, with only a few hanging lamps illuminating the towering stacks of wand boxes.
A white-haired old man stepped out from the back, wearing round spectacles—Ollivander.
"Oh. It's you, Harry Potter." His voice was soft, with a peculiar tremor. "I was wondering when you might come."
Harry blinked, then lifted a confused expression. "You know me?"
"Know you?" Ollivander chuckled and took down a wand box. "I remember every wand I've ever sold. Your father, James Potter, used a mahogany wand—eleven inches, pliable. Your mother's was willow—ten and a quarter inches, wonderfully swishy."
As he spoke, he opened the box and held out a wand. "Try this one. Hawthorn, nine inches, unicorn hair core."
Harry took it. The moment his fingers closed around it, a sharp sting shot through his palm and he dropped it immediately.
"No. Wrong. Too prickly."
Ollivander didn't seem surprised. He picked up another box. "Hazel, ten inches, dragon heartstring."
This one was worse—sparks exploded with a bang the instant Harry touched it, scorching the sleeve of his shirt.
Ollivander sighed and muttered as he combed through the shelves. "No, no… none of these… You're not like your parents. Your wand must be the one that fits you best."
Finally, he pulled a dust-coated box from the very back of the top shelf. He blew off the dust.
"Try this. Holly. Eleven inches. Phoenix feather core. Be careful—phoenix wands are picky. They only choose those who truly suit them."
Harry reached out.
The instant his fingertips touched the wand, a warm current shot through him, threading into his soul as if the wand recognized him.
He gave it a small wave.
The boxes around him leapt into the air, spun in a gentle arc, and settled back silently.
"This is the one." Ollivander's eyes lit up. "I knew it. Only this wand would choose you. Its core comes from the same phoenix as another…"
Harry's heart sank—hard—but his face didn't change.
He simply whispered, "Thank you."
He paid, stepped outside with the wand in hand, and felt the familiar—but not perfectly familiar—connection.
He knew why.
He had changed. And the wand could sense it.
At the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron, Hagrid was already waiting, holding an enormous cake with frosting smeared on his face.
"Harry! There yeh are!" Hagrid beamed. "Got your wand? Good! Let's get yeh back ter Privet Drive. Lots ter get ready before term starts!"
Harry nodded and followed him out.
When they passed Madam Malkin's, Harry glanced inside—
No hint of pale blond hair.
Draco was long gone.
He touched the wand in his pocket. Strength gathered quietly in his chest.
In a few days, he'd see Draco on the Hogwarts Express.
Then they could finally talk.
—
On the other side of London, Draco and Narcissa were seated in a carriage headed home.
Draco held his newly purchased wand—walnut, fourteen and a quarter inches, dragon heartstring core.
Not the same as his previous life's.
Perhaps because he no longer hesitated or doubted himself.
Narcissa gazed out the window at the passing scenery. "Once school starts, take care of yourself. Avoid quarrels. Your father hopes you'll make useful friends at Hogwarts."
Draco hummed in response, eyes lowered to the wand as he traced the wood grain with his fingertip.
He understood what she meant—
useful friends referred to the children of pure-blood families.
Networking with them would indeed come in handy one day.
The carriage passed the entrance to Diagon Alley. The brick wall slowly closed, hiding the bustle inside.
Draco lifted his head, watching the receding view. His pale blond hair glowed faintly under the sunset.
He was waiting—
Waiting for the day the Hogwarts Express departed.
Waiting to meet Harry again in a private compartment.
Waiting to slip him the two-way mirror tucked inside his coat.
Waiting to begin, together, a new life at Hogwarts.
He would not let anyone harm Harry Potter ever again.