Chapter Text
August 4th, 2001
Three parcels from Professor McGonagall arrived the day after her visit.
Two of the parcels were envelopes individually addressed to Harry and Hermione. They held identical school supply lists, along with two, red tickets for a train ride for September 2nd on Platform 9 ¾ in King’s Cross Station.
“I’ve never heard of Platform 9 and ¾ before.” Hermione had hummed, as Harry and she sat in her bedroom.
“What about this list?” Harry asked, lying back on Hermione’s spring green sheets. “ I don’t think we’re going to be able to find a pewter cauldron by wandering the streets of London.”
The last was a letter from Professor McGonagall addressed to the elder Grangers. In the letter were two bank applications, instructions on how to fill them out, and, finally, a note asking them to be outside Dobell’s Record Shop on Charing Cross Road at noon on August 4th. She finished the note by instructing them to meet a colleague of hers named Rubeus Hagrid.
“How will we know how to find Mr. Hagrid?” Hermione asked Calypso as her and Richard were filling out the forms they were sent.
“Dunno.” Calypso poked her tongue out from between her teeth as she checked a box. “All that she said was that we’d know him when we saw him.”
Now, the Granger family were walking down the streets of London after leaving their car in a city parking garage. Harry was holding on to her father’s hand for dear life, while Hermione was attempting to lead Calypso through the throngs of people heading in the opposite direction as them.
“Where’s the shop?” Harry yells, her voice raised in order to be heard even with the overbearing noise of the city.
Richard squeezes her hand in a gesture of comfort. “Just down the street.” He raises his left hand to shield his eyes from the watery sunlight. “In fact, I think I can see it from here.”
“Oh, thank god.” Harry whispers under her breath, scrunching her body to become even smaller as they pass a rather large man sporting a moustache.
The four of them are only one shop away from the record store, when Richard stops in his tracks.
“Oof!” Harry hisses in between her teeth, having kept walking without realising that her father had not. “Dad?”
“Rich?” Calypso rises to her tiptoes, attempting and failing to peer over her tall husband’s shoulder. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Er…” Richard coughs, raising his free hand to cover his mouth. “I think I found Mr. Hagrid.”
“What?” The three girls question in unison, following Richard as he leads them to their destination.
It is only when the entire family is standing in front of the music shop, that they understand why Professor McGonagall never gave them a description of her colleague.
Nervously shuffling his feet on the sidewalk was a large, nearly 8 foot tall man. Three quarters of his face was hidden by a long, scraggly beard. He wore a fuzzy, brown overcoat that hung just past his knees, and was repeatedly stuffing his trash-can-lid sized hands into one of its many pockets.
“Good afternoon!” Richard calls, practically dragging Harry towards this large stranger.
The man furrows both of his thick eyebrows, his gaze distant as he responds, “Hello.”
Richard clears his throat, tilting his head to the left and up as he does. “I’m sorry for asking, but you wouldn’t happen to be Mr. Rubeus Hagrid, would you?”
The man’s head snaps to attention, and he looks down at the family of four. “Ar- are yeh the Grangers ?”
“Yes,” Calypso jumps into the conversation. “Yes, we are. Professor McGonagall sent us. We’re so glad to have found you.”
Mr. Hagrid, however, seems to have zoned out of the conversation, as his gaze rests solely on--
“That must make you Harry.” Mr. Hagrid smiles down at her, with an expression so bright that it shone through his many layers of facial hair.
Richard squeezes Harry’s hand, and sends her a pointed look: A clear indication that she needed to respond.
“Er, yes. Nice to meet you, Mr. Hagrid.”
Mr. Hagrid waves her off. “Mr. Hagrid was my father. Yeh can call me Hagrid. Ev’ryone does.” Then he presses one large hand to his mouth, and Harry thinks that she can see a thin sheen of tears beginning to form in his eyes. “Wow, look at how big yeh’ve gotten! Last time I saw yeh, yeh was only a baby. And now… strange enough, you look a lot like yer dad, but yeh’ve got yer mum’s eyes.” Then Hagrid winces. “I mean, yer, er, birth mum and dad. Lily an’ James. Not--” He groans, wiping a hand down his pants. “I’m messing this all up.” He holds out a hand to Richard and Calypso. “I’m Hagrid, and you are…”
Calypso lets out an awkward chuckle, grabbing his hand. “I’m Calypso Granger. This is my husband, Richard Granger.”
“Pleasure to meet yeh both.”
Harry is still staring at Hagrid, her eyes narrowed. “You knew me when I was a baby?”
Hagrid glances back at her for a minute, and Harry could swear that she saw his face turn ashen underneath his beard.
However, Hagrid goes on as if he hadn’t heard her, and turns to face Hermione. “An’ who are yeh, young lady?”
Hermione gives him a hesitant smile, holding her hand out just as Calypso had done, and Richard after her. “I’m Hermione Granger. Nice to meet you, Hagrid.”
“So polite.” Hagrid laughs, crouching down, and gently gripping Hermione’s small hand in his. Harry watches her sister intently for any signs of discomfort, but Hermione’s shoulders end up growing more relaxed as Hagrid shakes her hand.
Hagrid stands to his full height, gaining much attention from random passerby, and wipes dust from the knees of his brown pants. “Alrigh’ then. We best be on our way.”
“Are we going into the record store?” Hermione asks, pointing out the storefront that they were still standing in front of.
“Hm?” Hagrid furrows his eyebrows, staring at the record shop as if he hadn’t noticed it before. “Oh, no. Professor McGonagall asked me to meet yeh out here, since it’s a bit hard fer Muggles ter find the Leaky.”
Harry sends a wide-eyed look to her sister, silently asking Hermione if she understood any of what Hagrid was saying. Hermione looks only slightly less confused than Harry was feeling.
“On we go, then.” Hagrid easily cuts through the family of four as he walks away.
Hermione looks at her parents nervously, before turning on her heel to follow Hagrid. Unfortunately, Hermione immediately collides with Hagrid, who had randomly stopped on the sidewalk after only walking a handful of giant steps.
“Well, here we are!” Hagrid proclaims excitedly, completely oblivious to Hermione sitting flat on her bum behind him.
While Richard helps Hermione to her feet, Harry stares at the building that Hagrid had brought them to.
It was an old building, constructed of weathered wood. A rusty sign proclaiming the name ‘ The Leaky Cauldron ’ hung crookedly. It was altogether unimpressive looking, but considering the fact that the Granger clan had already passed the building, Harry was surprised that she hadn’t noticed it.
Hagrid presses on the creaky door, causing it to fly open. “In yeh go.” He gestures them in, keeping one of his large hands keeping the entrance agape.
“Thank you.” Hermione smiles up at him, still walking stiffly after her inadvertent tumble.
After Harry had thanked Hagrid, and stepped into the building, she felt her eyebrows rise to her hairline.
“Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron!” Hagrid exclaims, beaming at the group. “One of the most famous places in all of London!”
On the outside, the building looked like a dingy, old pub. On the inside, however… It still looked like a dingy old pub. A rather crowded dingy old pub, but a dingy old pub nonetheless.
Harry looks at Hermione, wide eyed. Hermione pastes a rather forced smile on her face as she looks around the room. “Wow. This is… something else.”
“I know, righ’!” Hagrid laughs, clapping both of the girls’ shoulders, and almost causing Harry’s knees to buckle from anxiety.
“The usual, Hagrid?” An old man sitting behind the bar asks, raising a pint glass.
Hagrid clears his throat. “Can’t, Tom. I’m on Hogwarts business.” He shakes both Harry and Hermione by the shoulders for extra emphasis.
Harry is too busy trying to calm her breathing to notice that the entire bar has gone quiet.
“Oi!” The bartender yells, wagging his finger at Harry. “You, girl! What d’you think you’re doin’?”
Harry looks down at her feet, checking to make sure that the way that she is standing isn’t somehow offensive. “I- I dunno, what am I doing?”
The old man hobbles out from behind the bar, glaring down at her. “Don’ you go coming in here, and make a mockery of what that boy went through!” The rest of the bar looks on in silence.
Calypso stands in front of Harry, one arm outstretched to keep the old man away. “Oi, don’t you go yelling at my daughter!”
“Your daughter--” Tom growls, before Hagrid cuts him off.
“Tha’ is enough, Tom!” Hagrid yells, making his way in front of Calypso, chest to chest with the old man, causing the bartender to stumble backward. “If you knew whom yeh were talkin’ to--”
“I won’t allow this in my bar.” Tom grumbles, sending a glare in Harry’s direction.
“Good thing we’re just passing through.” Hagrid replies, turning his head, and gesturing for Calypso and Richard to lead Harry and Hermione to a wooden door on the opposite side of the tavern as they had entered. “Go on.” He tells them, holding the door open for them, sending one last nasty look at Tom before following them outside.
The Grangers and Hagrid find themselves standing in an old courtyard surrounded by a dirty brick wall.
“Are you okay, love?” Calypso asks Harry, crouching down to meet her eyes.
“I’m fine.” Harry replies, discreetly scratching the skin of her index finger with her thumb nail. She turns to face a weary looking Hagrid. “Is that how everyone in the Wizarding World greets each other? I’d like to be prepared before we go shopping.”
Hagrid shakes his head, causing his wild hair to swing side to side. “No, it isn’t.” He sidesteps the Grangers, and makes his way to a section of the worn brick wall where a dustbin was placed. “I swear, Harry, I expected ev’ryone to understand immediately, I did. But old Tom, he’s never been the bigges’ pumpkin in the patch, if yeh know what I mean. And o’ course, since it’s his bar, no one wants to say anything ‘cause they don’ want ter get kicked out, ‘cause they got no place left ter go.” As he is speaking, he pulls out a pink umbrella somewhere from the depths of his coat, and uses it to trace the wall. “Don’ worry, though. I’m sure ev’ryone else will get it. An’ if they don’, they got me to answer to.”
“Get what?” Hermione speaks up, eyes glassy, evidently entranced by Hagrid’s movements.
Hagrid ignored her, muttering under his breath, “Three up… two across…” He tapped one of the bricks three times with his umbrella.
The brick shook, slowly at first, then faster. Faster, and faster it went, a small hole beginning to form, which transformed into a large archway, big enough for even Hagrid to step through. Beyond the archway was a cobblestone street that twisted and turned out of sight.
“Whoa…” Hermione whispers in awe, her question now forgotten.
Hagrid beamed at the Grangers, his face glowing underneath his long beard. “Welcome to Diagon Alley!”
***
In the ten or so minutes that it took Hagrid to lead the Grangers to the Wizarding bank that they needed to stop at, Harry had decided that Diagon Alley was a place that she never ever wanted to leave.
Every building was brightly coloured, every sound interested her, every sign had her asking more questions. Harry hated crowds, but she found that they were slightly less overwhelming when they were filled with people wearing odd cloaks and pointed hats, and who were looking at her jeans and t-shirt with equal curiosity.
Hermione was just as entranced, jogging to keep up with Hagrid’s every step, and breathlessly asking him questions. Thankfully, rather than being annoyed and impatient with her questions, as most new adults tend to be with Hermione, Hagrid would smile brightly and answer her every question.
“Is that an owl ?”
“Yep! Darn useful critters, they are. They deliver all our mail.”
Hagrid suddenly stops. Thankfully, this time Hermione is beside him and not behind him, so she remains perfectly upright as Hagrid turns to face the inconspicuous store they stood in front of.
Peeling gold letters above the door spelled out: Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.. One singular window belonging to the shop held one wand on a musty, violet cushion.
“Why are we stopped?” Calypso asks, her eyes settled on the golden letters, as if reading them more than once would make the words suddenly make sense in her mind.
Hagrid was nibbling at the nail of his thumb, his face scrunched pensively. “Hmm… y’know what? This might be a good idea…”
“What is?” Hermione asks, bouncing on the balls of her feet, staring at the wand in the window.
Hagrid grabs the handle on the door, and pulls it open. “Follow me.”
The inside of the wand shop was… different than Harry would have expected. The suffocating shadows, and dust on every surface was not altogether unsurprising. Nor was the fact that their party of five took up most of the space in the shop. The piles of wands that went all the way up to the ceiling, and the odd electricity in the air, though… that, she couldn’t have guessed.
“This is Ollivanders.” Hagrid said, his booming voice lowered an octave, as if he were terrified of making too much noise in the old shop. “Best, and only place fer wands.”
“Hagrid,” Calypso moves closer to Hagrid, her voice also lowered. “Don’t we need, y’know, money for wands? Don’t we need to go to the bank first?”
“Yes, we do.” Hagrid agrees, earning only confused looks from Calypso and Richard. “Thing is, you getting gold from your vault, and me getting my package, should only take a couple ‘o minutes, and on’y requires me and one o’ you. Meanwhile, getting a wand takes a bit o’ time. ‘Specially if yeh’re shopping fer more than one.”
“Very right you are, Hagrid.” A soft, unknown voice said.
Harry and Hermione jumped, clutching at one another. Hagrid must have also jumped, because the entire shop seemed to vibrate, and he was muttering, “Sorry ‘bout that.” Over and over again under his shallow breathing.
An old man had suddenly appeared behind the front counter. He had wispy, white hair, and almost silver eyes that seemed to glow in the dim lighting. He gives a small, oddly unnerving smile to the group. “Good afternoon.”
Harry looks at Hermione, who is still trying to catch her breath from the shock. Slowly, Harry detangles herself from Hermione, and awkwardly waves at the shopkeeper. “Hello.”
He tilts his head at her, his silver eyes making her feel as though he were looking straight through her. “Ah, yes. I thought that I’d be seeing you soon. Should I still call you Harry Potter ?”
Creepy old man knows my name! The alarm bells start going off in Harry’s head, but she swallows them down, and corrects, “Harry Granger-Potter, actually.”
“My apologies Ms. Granger-Potter.” The old man replies, still gazing at her in a manner that made Harry altogether uncomfortable. “You have your mother’s eyes, you know.” Mentally Harry makes a tick mark on a black board for how many times she’s heard that in the last hour. “It seems like just yesterday, she was in here herself, buying her first wand; Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work.”
Ollivander steps closer to Harry, and she holds her ground, refusing to take a step back. “Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power, and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say that your father favoured it-- it’s really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course. Or, the witch.”
Ollivander’s eyes settle on her forehead, an occurrence that Harry was starting to get very annoyed by. “And that’s where…” Harry’s mind is moving sluggishly, trying to understand all of the information that she barely notices as Ollivander raises one of his gaunt hands to her face. Key word, barely.
Harry stumbles backwards, her heart racing as Ollivander’s hand hovers in the air, tracing a pattern, as if she was still standing there, waiting for him to touch her scar. “I’m sorry to say that I sold the wand that did it. Thirteen and a half inches. Yes. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands…” Harry touched the scar herself, the raised skin feeling different than before for some reason. “Well, if I’d known what that wand was going out into the world to do…”
The room was quiet as the old man gently shook his head, before spotting Hagrid, to Harry’s immense relief.
“Rubeus!” Hagrid’s eyes widen to an alarming degree. “Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again…” Ollivander narrows his eyes, and worries on his bottom lip, in deep thought. “Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn’t it?”
Hagrid swallows thickly. “It was, sir, yes.”
“Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?”
“ Expelled ?” Hermione yelps, looking up at Hagrid in shock, and, quite possibly, terror.
Hagrid coughs into his hand clearing his throat. “Er-- yes they did, yes. I’ve still got the pieces, though.”
“But you don’t use them?” Ollivander asks, one of his eyebrows raising to his receding hairline.
“Oh, no, sir.” Hagrid says, nervously patting the left side of his jacket, where Harry recalls he had stashed his pink umbrella away. “Anywho, I best be off to Vault 713.”
“What’s Vault 713?” Harry asks, tilting her head up at the man.
Hagrid pauses, as if realising that he had just made a very dire mistake, before continuing on like nothing had happened. Harry noticed that that seemed to be a theme for him. “Mr. Ollivander will help yeh girls find yer wands. Meanwhile, I need one o’ you two to come with me.” He points at Calypso and Richard as he says the last part.
“Which one of us do you need?” Calypso asks, warily eying Mr. Ollivander, as he picks up a tape measure from the front counter.
“Either will do…” Hagrid muses. “Though, just to be safe, which one of you is less likely to get sick in a fast moving cart?”
***
Calypso had been elected to stay at the wand shop, as her motion sickness was a legend among the Granger family and carnival attendants alike. Harry stood beside her mother, having volunteered Hermione to get her wand first. This was a decision made partly because Hermione was literally vibrating at the possibility of getting her wand, and partly because Harry didn’t feel like being around Mr. Ollivander at the moment.
Calypso is tapping her foot hurriedly, her eyes never leaving Hermione as Ollivander measures Hermione’s right arm. “So…” She says slowly, quickly darting her eyes to look at Harry. “That must’ve been nice.”
“What was?” Harry asks, her arms crossed over her chest. Ollivander had turned away from Hermione, yet the tape measure was still floating in the air, evaluating her.
“Hearing about your birth parents.” Calypso elaborates, still not facing Harry.
Harry presses her lips together. “They aren’t my parents. You and dad are my parents.”
Calypso lets out a small, disapproving sigh. “Still, it’s nice to know where you came from.”
‘Where you came from.’
Ted had talked to her once, a year or two after her adoption. You shouldn’t feel guilty for wanting to know where you came from.
“Knowing about their wands doesn’t mean that I know anything about them.” Harry says stubbornly, watching as Ollivander gives Hermione a second wand, before promptly taking it out of her hands like the first.
So what, if she knew Lily’s wand was made of willow, and James’ of mahogany? It isn’t like she knew anything about wands. And, it meant nothing that Harry had subconsciously stored that information away, along with their names that she first heard when she was 5.
It didn’t matter that Lily had green eyes like her, instead of the cold blue ones that Harry had always imagined. It didn’t matter they didn’t die in the way that Harry had always believed. It didn’t matter because Harry had never known Lily or James, not really. It didn’t matter, because she didn’t even matter to them. Certainly not enough for them to worry about where she would end up when they were gone--
“Oh my, god.” Calypso whispers, and Harry jumps a bit in shock.
The newest wand that Hermione had gripped remained in her hand, and bursting out at the tip was a bouquet of brightly coloured flowers.
Hermione starts bouncing on the balls of her feet, a white-knuckled grip on the wand.
“Brilliant.” Mr. Ollivander said brightly, gently taking the wand from Hermione, and putting it back into its box, before wrapping said box in brown paper.
Hermione rushes to Harry and Calypso, saying in a breathless rush, “I got my wand! Vinewood and dragon heartstring, isn’t that wonderful! And, it chose me, because the wand chooses the witch, and--”
“Ms. Granger-Potter, it is your turn.” Mr. Ollivander calls out, picking up the discarded tape measure.
“Okay…” Harry says slowly, trying to keep a healthy distance from herself and Mr. Ollivander as she steps forward.
“Which is your wand arm?”
Harry’s left hand clenched into a fist at the question. “Well, I’m right handed.” She replies softly, holding out the aforementioned right appendage.
“As I was telling Ms. Granger, every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander’s 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.”
“Of course.” Harry says slowly, tapping her left foot, looking out the window for any sign of her father, and wrinkles her nose as the tape measure finds itself in between her nostrils.
Mr. Ollivander grabs a box, and pulls out a light coloured wand. “That will do.” He tells the tape measure, and it crumples to the ground. “Here you go, Ms. Granger-Potter. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Quite flexible. Just take it and give it a wave.”
Harry grabs the wand, preparing to lift it over her head. However, as soon as her hand had fully fitted around the wand, Ollivander had promptly yanked the wand out of her hand, and shook his head.
Harry glances at her mother and sister.
Hermione gives her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. It took me two or three wands before I found mine.”
“It found you, Ms. Granger.” Mr. Ollivander corrects, already holding out a new wand to Harry. “Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try--”
Harry had already grabbed the wand out of his hand, but he grabbed it back before she could even attempt to wave it.
“No, no--” Ollivander selects another box, seemingly at random, and hands another wand to Harry. “Here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out.”
Ollivander was starting to speak faster, staring at her much like how Hermione had looked at A Tale of Two Cities when she’d attempted to read it for a school project.
The ebony wand didn’t work. Nor did the mahogany wand. Or the rowan wand. Or the oak wand. Ollivander piled all of her failed attempts on a spindly chair sitting in the corner of the shop.
Harry was just starting to grip a hawthorn wand with unicorn hair, when the shop’s bell announces the arrival of Hagrid and an ashen faced Richard.
“You’re back!” Hermione exclaims, an obviously forced smile pasted on her face. Truthfully, Hermione’s real smile had disappeared around Harry’s fourth or fifth wand attempt.
“Yep, sorry we took so long.” Hagrid laughs, lightly patting Richard on the shoulder. “We didn’ mean to hold yeh up.”
“Trust me, Hagrid.” Harry says bitterly, glaring at her failed attempts. “You’re not the one that is holding us up.”
Richard follows Harry’s line of sight, his eyebrow furrowing when he sees the small pile of kindling that she had run through. “What’s all this?”
Calypso opens her mouth, probably about to explain to her husband, while reassuring Harry, and attempting to cure Hermione’s restlessness.
However, Mr. Ollivander speaks before she can. “Tricky customer.”
Richard walks over to Calypso, gripping her elbow. “Cal, we need to talk.”
“What’s wrong?” She tilts her head at him. “Did you not get the money?”
“Trust me, we got the money.” Richard replies, causing his wife to scrunch her face in even more confusion.
Harry’s attention is half on her parents, and half on Ollivander who is bobbing on his heels in what Harry could only describe as giddiness . “Not to worry, we’ll find the perfect match here, somewhere--” Ollivander stops in his tracks, a wand box already in hand, before he spins around and starts rifling through an entirely different shelf than he had before. “I wonder, now-- yes, why not!” He brings the wand to Harry, and gives her a bright smile, which unnerves her more than his pale stare. “Unusual combination-- holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.”
Harry grabs the wand, preparing for it to be yanked out of her hand. However, the minute her fingers wrap around the wood, something feels different.
Warmth spreads through her hand, through the wand. It is a strange sensation, but it feels almost as if the wand is an extension of her hand. Switching the wand into her other hand, Harry twirls the wand, neatly slicing the dusty air in the shop, and gold sparks exit the tip of her wand, glowing like a firework.
Hagrid whoops, clapping his large hands together. Hermione is jumping up and down, clapping along with Hagrid. Richard and Calypso are gripping each other’s forearms, obviously still not used to the use of magic.
“Oh, bravo!” Ollivander cries, grabbing the wand out of Harry’s hand, and immediately making her ache for it. “Yes, indeed, very good.” As Ollivander reaches for the brown paper, he shakes his head, as if hoping to get rid of an invisible object resting atop of his head. “Well, well, well… How curious… How very curious…”
Richard steps forward, holding a green, velvet bag in his hand. “How much for the wands?”
“Twenty galleons, four sickles, and twenty-six knuts for both wands.” Ollivander seems to speak in only one breath, his silver eyes unblinking. “That comes to ten galleons, three sickles, and twenty-three knuts per wand.”
Richard blinks once. Twice. Then, he swallows thickly, and calls over his shoulder. “A moment, Hagrid?”
Harry watches as Richard and Hagrid begin pulling out and counting odd coins. She steps up to the store’s countertop, noticing Ollivander lining up the two wrapped wands, and muttering, “Curious… curious…” Under his breath.
“Sorry,” Harry says softly, keeping an eye on the two men standing beside her to make sure that they were too preoccupied to listen. “But what’s curious?”
Ollivander sets his unblinking eyes on her, his hands stilling on top of the wands. “I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Ms. Granger-Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather-- just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother--” He lifts one hand, pointing to, but not touching, her scar. “Why, it’s brother gave you that scar.”
Harry swallows hard. Distantly she can still hear the jangling of coins.
“Yes, thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember… I think we must expect great things from you, Ms. Granger-Potter… After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things-- terrible things, yes, but great.”
“Here you go!” Richard’s voice nearly makes Harry jump. “Twenty galleons, four sickles, and twenty-six knuts.”
Ollivander receives the coins from Mr. Granger. “Pleasure doing business with you, sir.”
“Harry, dear, why don’t you grab the wan--”
Before Richard can even finish his sentence, Harry gathers both boxes into her arms, turns on her heel, and marches out of the shop.
Hermione is right on Harry’s heels. “Harry?” She calls out, breathless, limply grabbing the crook of Harry’s elbow. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” Harry shrugs, biting the inside of her cheek as Hagrid, Richard, and Calypso exit Ollivander’s shop.
“What did Mr. Ollivander say to you?” Hermione narrows her eyes in suspicion.
Harry gives a small shrug, praying that her poker face was, for once, working. “Nothing.” She pastes a smile on her face, addressing Hagrid. “Where to next?”
Hagrid gestures to a store front across the street. “Flourish and Blotts. That's where we’ll find yer school books.”
***
It takes approximately three hours and one Hagrid-sized handful of coins before Harry and Hermione are considered fully stocked for school.
Hagrid had taken them to Flourish and Blotts (where Hermione had to be talked down from buying the entire book collection of some sparkly toothed blonde man); Madame Malkin’s Robes For Every Occasion (where they had walked out with five black robes and a black pointed hat, each); They’d even gone to Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour (which had the best Raspberry Almond ice cream Harry had ever eaten).
Every store they had gone to had been odd in its own special way. For instance, Harry had seen a furry book in a cage that Hagrid had been entranced with in Flourish and Blotts.
However, one of the oddest parts of the day had been the way people had reacted to Harry.
Despite Hagrid’s assurances that not everyone in the wizard world would treat her with outright hostility, Harry hadn’t quite understood what would be in store for. She certainly hadn’t expected one woman to rush up and bow down as if she had just seen the bloody Queen of England , praises falling from her lips.
“It’s the scar.” Hagrid had told her, an obvious grin forming underneath his beard.
Harry had had no response for that, except to duck her head and help the woman to her feet, wincing as she is pulled into a hug, tears staining the shoulder of her t-shirt.
Now, the four Grangers and Hagrid were sitting at tables in the back of the Leaky Cauldron (after much apologies from Tom the Bartender under the intense watch of a glowering Hagrid).
Due to the fact that no table in The Leaky Cauldron was big enough for their whole party, Harry, Hermione, and Hagrid were all sitting at a corner booth, Harry’s new owl tucked in a cage beside her, while Richard and Calypso were sitting at a small table nearby in deep conversation.
Harry was digging into her dish of Shepherd’s Pie closely watching Hagrid as he took a sip from a rather large glass of water.
“Hagrid, can I ask you something?” Harry asks softly.
Hagrid smiles at her. “O’course.”
“You just did.” Hermione comments at the same time, not bothering to look up from her book.
Ignoring her sister’s comment, Harry stares intently at Hagrid’s glowing face. “Why… Why am I so famous? I don’t quite understand.”
Hagrid’s face falls. He looks down at his glass, one finger circling the rim. “Professor McGonagall says she told you the story.”
“She did.” Harry agrees. “She told me all about Voldem--”
“Don’t say his name!” Hagrid hisses, looking around as if terrified that a monster was going to materialise suddenly.
Harry winces. “Right. Sorry. She told me all about… You-Know-Who, and that he killed my birth parents,” Hagrid’s face crumples in sadness. “And that he disappeared when he couldn’t, you know, kill me.”
“Yes.” Hagrid replies, still not taking his gaze away from his glass of water.
“But… that doesn’t explain why women cry into my shoulder, and shop vendors try to give me free stuff just because… what? I have a scar on my head?”
Hagrid shakes his head. “It is so much more than a scar, Harry. I don’t think you realise how scared people were. You couldn’ make friends for fear of one of them working with him. People lived in hiding. Whole families were decimated. It was a time o’ horror… An’… you was only a baby, an’ you lived. That mark on yer forehead, that’s what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh.”
Harry takes a bite of her pie, chewing slowly until she can get her words into an order that makes sense. “That still doesn’t make sense why everyone recognizes the scar.” She notices Hagrid’s face turn red. “How come every time someone sees the lightning shaped scar on my head they immediately know who I am?”
Hagrid clears his throat. “Well, I suppose that… someone who had seen you after the incident may have… told the story to a few… others. And those others shared it with some others, until everyone knew, and the scar became famous.”
“Someone.” Harry repeated, narrowing her eyes at the older man.
Hagrid nods. “Yes, someone who may have had a few too many drinks at a celebration party.”
Hermione finally looks up from her book, sending a wide-eyed look towards Harry.
Harry smiles, tilting her head at Hagrid. “Did you see me after the incident?” She asks, a layer of amusement coating her words.
Unfortunately, Hagrid doesn’t laugh. His face falls, and he stares for a long time into his glass of water.
“Hagrid?” Hermione asks hesitantly, finally closing her book.
Hagrid clears his throat again, and takes a large gulp of his drink. When he comes up for air, he looks at Harry, something in his eyes that she can’t read.
All he says is, “How’s your owl?”
Harry looks down at the bird, who is already looking up at her with large, amber eyes.
“She’s wonderful.” Harry replies, a smile forming on her face. “Thank you, again.”
Hagrid just stares back at her, an unknown grief weighing down his features. “Believe me, it was the least that I could do.”