Chapter Text
The following fanfiction is obviously parody, if not outright satire due to internet memes. This fanfiction deviates at the exact point in which Harry meets “Draconia Malfoid” during their robe fitting, and will further deviate as the story goes on while having elements of the main story’s plotline. My changes are my own, written by me, using the skeleton of the story as it is known. In the later books and chapters, it may be changed entirely, though the plot will always remain the same.
Whole chapters were nothing is changed will be entirely omitted, copyright and sich’.
Ch 5
[Diagon Alley]
… Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve.
“Hogwarts, dear?” she asked, when Harry started to speak. “Got the lot here. A young woman is being fitted up just now, in fact.”
In the back of the shop, a girl with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up her long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to her, slipped a long robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length.
When he was head free of the robe, Harry glanced sideways at the girl. The sunlight through the window made her gray-green eyes glitter like glass, and her hair looked bright due to how blonde it was.
Harry reckoned it must have been quite pretty, but was currently up in a bun so the tailors could work more easily.
“Hello,” said the girl, catching Harry staring sideways at her, “Hogwarts, too?”
“Yes,” said Harry quickly, forcing his eyes straight and out the window.
“My father’s next door buying my books and mother’s up the street looking at wands,” said the girl. She had a bored, drawling voice that was as sharp as glass. “Then I’m going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don’t see why first years can’t have their own. I think I’ll bully father into getting me one since he’s always been soft on me, can’t let his precious little girl go on wanting, you know, and I’ll smuggle it in somehow.”
Harry was strongly reminded of Dudley from how stubborn and spoiled she seemed to be… though she certainly looked better than Dudley.
Everyone looked better than Dudley, really.
“Have you got your own broom?” the girl went on, turning her head a little more to look at Harry.
“No,” replied Harry, forcing himself to stay staring out the window.
“Play Quidditch at all?” She asked curiously, now leaning forward slightly to get a better look at Harry as the witches fussed with her robes.
“No,” Harry said again, wondering what on earth Quidditch could be while he made sure his hair was well over his brow to hide his scar.
She bent over a little more, trying to get a better look at Harry. “What’s your team?”
“My- what?” Harry asked, turning his head just a little and seeing the girl nearly bent over double and trying to look at his face.
He quickly looked away to the window again.
“Your team!” She laughed out, growling angrily when a witch poked her with a needle in order to get her to stand back up straight, and she hissed at the witch. “Don’t poke me, woman, do you know who my father is?” She then dressed her voice as she turned back to Harry. “Anyway I’m partial to the Holyhead Harpies for the moment, but I don’t see that lasting, they haven’t been doing well, though it will be a warm day in Durmstrang before I park my broom with the Chudley Cannons. Absolutely motley lot. Do you plan to play while you’re at Hogwarts? For one of the house teams?”
Harry blinked out the window again, then shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know.
“I do.” the girl chirped brightly as she bent back forward with a bounce of her heels, though bent back up with a prod from the witch working on her hem. “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,” said Harry, feeling more stupid by the minute and a bit warm under so much female attention.
Was one of his less-liked side effects of being raised like a leper. No real social interaction besides school, and there wasn’t much positive interaction there either.
“Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I’ll be in Slytherin, all our family have been. Imagine being in Hufflepuff.” the girl said with a giggling snort. “I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?”
“Mmm,” hummed Harry, wishing he could say something a bit more interesting.
“I say, look at that man!” said the girl suddenly, nodding toward the front window.
Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Harry and pointing at two large ice creams to show he couldn’t come in.
“That’s Hagrid,” Harry said with a smile and a small, sideways wave to Hagrid, pleased to know something the girl didn’t. “He works at Hogwarts.”
“Oooh,” said the girl, “I’ve heard of him. He’s a sort of servant, isn’t he? Runs around the castle clipping hedges and such? We have one of those too.”
“He’s the gamekeeper,” Harry repeated. He was suddenly liking the girl less and less every second, and the odd fluttering in his stomach died away like a false breeze..
“Yes, exactly! I heard he’s a sort of savage. Lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed.” she said with another giggle and a derisive shake of her head. “I think he’d be better off living in the woods!”
“I think he’s brilliant,” said Harry coldly.
“Do you?” said the girl, with a slight sneer. “Why is he with you? Where are your parents?”
“They’re dead,” said Harry shortly. He didn’t feel much like going into the matter with this girl, certainly not now.
“Oh, sorry,” said the girl flatly. She glanced sideways a few times at Harry as an awkward paused stretched between them for a few breaths, but she seemed to have rallied with a new question. “But they were our kind, weren’t they?”
“They were a witch and wizard, if that’s what you mean.”
She seemed to brighten at this, and sought to fill the air to avoid another awkward pause. “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 and come into the school blind, clogging up the shops with their gawping. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter. Imagine that! Just one day they find out they’re a wizard. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families only. What’s your surname, anyway?”
But before Harry could answer, Madam Malkin said, “That’s you done, my dear,” and Harry, not sorry for an excuse to stop talking to the girl, hopped down from the footstool.
“Well, I’ll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose,” said the girl, giving Harry a cheerful wave from her loose sleeve as he slipped past the door.
When Harry looked back through the window as he walked towards Hagrid, he saw her pointing out towards him and talking rather cheerfully to Madam Malkin. The old witch kept having to push her arm back down to her side, shaking her head as she tried to get a measurement.
Harry was rather quiet as he ate the ice cream Hagrid had bought him, a rough blend of chocolate, raspberry, and chopped nuts.
“What’s up?” asked Hagrid. “I’ve never seen a lad eat icecream with such a somber look!”
“Nothing,” Harry lied, licking at the icecream so Hagrid could see his mouth was busy. He kept thinking back to the girl, and how… lovely she had seemed before she had opened her mouth.
Hagrid, a “savage servant”? Thinking so little of people who never knew they were a wizard until their letter showed up… that was Harry to a “T”, wasn’t it?
They stopped to buy parchment and quills, dusting their hands off on their robes when the shop keeper gave them a waspish look. Harry cheered up a bit when he found a bottle of ink that changed color as you wrote.
When they had left the shop, Harry asked, “Hagrid, what’s Quidditch?”
“Blimey, Harry, I keep forgettin’ how little yeh know. Imagine not knowin’ about Quidditch!”
“Don’t make me feel worse,” groused Harry.
He told Hagrid about the pale girl in Madam Malkin’s.
“-and she said people from Muggle families shouldn’t even be allowed in-”
“Yer not from a Muggle family, Harry. If she’d known who yeh were, hah, she’s grown up knowin’ yer name if her parents are wizardin’ folk. You saw what everyone in the Leaky Cauldron was like when they saw yeh. Anyway, what does she know about it, some o’ the best I ever saw were the only ones with magic in ‘em in a long line o’ Muggles. Look at yer mum! Look what she had fer a sister!”
“So! What is Quidditch?” Harry asked, trying to steer the conversation away from his mother.
“It’s our sport. Wizard sport. It’s like… like soccer in the Muggle world. Everyone follows Quidditch! Played up in the air on broomsticks and there’s four balls, er… sorta hard ter explain the rules.”
“And what are Slytherin and Hufflepuff?”
“School houses. There’s four. Everyone says Hufflepuff are a lot o’ duffers, but-”
“I bet I’m in Hufflepuff,” said Harry gloomily, remembering how the girl had giggled and snorted at the mere thought of being in that house.
“Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin,” said Hagrid darkly. “There’s not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn’t in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one.”
“Vol-, sorry. You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?”
“Years an’ years ago,” said Hagrid. “Every child has to go to school, don’they? But there’s no telling what’cher gonna turn into as an adult.”
Harry chewed Hagrid’s words over in his head… she was too pretty to be evil, right? But she certainly had a lot of poison in some of her words.
They bought Harry’s school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk; books full of peculiar symbols, and a few books with nothing in them at all.
Even Dudley, who never read anything, would have been wild to get his hands on some of these.
Hagrid almost had to drag Harry away from Curses and Countercurses (Bewitch Your Friends and
Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying and Much, Much More) by Professor Vindictus Viridian.
“I was trying to find out how to curse Dudley.” Harry laughed out as Hagrid let go over his sleeve. “Maybe even that evil little girl who called you a savage servant!”
“I’m not sayin’ that’s not a good idea, but yer not ter use magic in the Muggle world except in very special circumstances,” said Hagrid. “An’ anyway, yeh couldn’ work any of them curses yet, yeh’ll need a lot more study before yeh get ter that level.”
Hagrid wouldn’t let Harry buy a solid gold cauldron either, reminding him that “It says pewter on yer list” and gently poking him in the right direction. But, they got a nice set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope. Then they visited the Apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages.
Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. While Hagrid asked the man behind the counter for a supply of some basic potion ingredients for Harry, Harry himself examined silver unicorn horns at twenty-one Galleons each and minuscule, glittery-black beetle eyes for “five Knuts a scoop”.
Outside the Apothecary, Hagrid checked Harry’s list again.
“Just yer wand left. A’yeah, an’ I still haven’t got yeh a birthday present.”
Harry felt himself go red.
“You don’t have to-”
“I know I don’t have to, but this is a big occasion and from what I can tell yeh ain’t had scuff for birthday presents in the past. Tell yeh what, I’ll get yer animal. Not a toad, ugh, toads went outta fashion years ago an yeh’d be laughed at. I don’ like cats, they make me sneeze. Hum… I’ll get yer an owl! All the kids want owls! They’re dead useful, carry yer mail an’ everythin’.”
Twenty minutes later, they left Eeylops Owl Emporium, which had been dark and full of rustling and flickering, jewel-bright eyes. Harry now carried a large cage that held a beautiful snowy owl, fast asleep with her head under her wing. He couldn’t stop stammering his thanks, sounding just like Professor Quirrell.
“Don’ mention it,” said Hagrid gruffly. “As I said, don’t expect you’ve had a lotta presents from them Dursleys. Just Ollivanders left now. Only place fer wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand.”
A magic wand…this was what Harry had been really looking forward to.
The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.
A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that Hagrid sat on to wait. Harry felt strangely as though he had entered a very strict library; he swallowed a lot of new questions that had just occurred to him and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of his neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.
“Good afternoon,” said a soft voice. Harry jumped. Hagrid must have jumped, too, because there was a loud crunching noise and he got quickly off the spindly chair.
An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.
“Hello,” said Harry awkwardly.
“Ah yes,” said the man. “Yes, yes. I thought I’d be seeing you soon. Harry Potter.” It wasn’t a question, and the old man tilted his head at him kindly. “You have your mother’s eyes. It seems only 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.”
Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Harry. Harry wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy.
“Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it. It’s really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course.”
Mr. Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes.
“And that’s where…” Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry’s forehead with a long, white finger.
“I’m sorry to say I sold the wand that did it,” he said softly. “Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands…well, if I’d known what that wand was going out into the world to do…”
He shook his head and then, to Harry’s relief, spotted Hagrid.
“Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again…Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn’t it?”
“It was, sir, yes,” said Hagrid.
“Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?” said Mr. Ollivander, suddenly stern.
“Er, yes, they did, yes,” stammered Hagrid, shuffling his feet. “I’ve still got the pieces, though,” he added brightly.
“But you don’t use them?” said Mr. Ollivander sharply.
“Oh, no, sir,” said Hagrid quickly. Harry noticed he gripped his pink umbrella very tightly as he spoke.
“Hmmm,” said Mr. Ollivander, giving Hagrid a piercing look. “Well, now Mr. Potter. Let me see.” He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. “Which is your wand arm?”
“Er… well, I’m right-handed,” said Harry.
“Hold out your arm. That’s it.” He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, “Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander 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.”
Harry suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Harry thought back to the girl’s words, her “Imagine that! Just one day they find out they’re a wizard”, and he couldn’t help but feel even more that he fell into that category.
Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes. “That will do,” he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. “Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave.”
Harry took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.
“Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try.”
Harry tried, but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr.
Ollivander.
“No, no, here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out.”
Harry tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.
“Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we’ll find the perfect match here somewhere-... I wonder.” He slowly pulled a box from the shelf, rubbing a thumb along the dust of the face as he turned to look at Harry, brows punched in thought. “Now… yes, why not, unusual combination… holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.”
Harry took the wand, and felt a sudden surge of warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air, and a glowing stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls.
Hagrid whooped, and clapped, while Mr. Ollivander cried, “Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well…how… curious. How very curious…” He put Harry’s wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, “Curious…curious…”
“Sorry,” said Harry, “but what’s curious?”
Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare.
“I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Mr. 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… why, its brother gave you that scar.”
Harry swallowed.
“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, Mr. Potter… after all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things. Terrible, yes, but great.”
Harry shivered.
He wasn’t sure he liked Mr. Ollivander too much.
Harry paid seven gold Galleons for his wand, and Mr. Ollivander bowed them from his shop.
The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Harry and Hagrid made their way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall, then back through the Leaky Cauldron, now empty. Harry didn’t speak at all as they walked down the road; he didn’t even notice how much people were gawking at them on the Underground, laden as they were with all their funny-shaped packages, with the snowy owl asleep in its cage on Harry’s lap.
Up another escalator, out into Paddington station; Harry only realized where they were when Hagrid tapped him on the shoulder.
“Got time fer a bite to eat before yer train leaves,” he said.
He bought Harry a hamburger and they sat down on plastic seats to eat them. Hagrid’s seat looked quite unsure in the legs, about as unsure as the workers when Hagrid ordered five burgers for himself.
Harry kept looking around as he unwrapped his own burger, the paper rustling in his fingers. Everything looked so… strange, somehow. He had just bought a wand, a cauldron, an owl, and now here he was eating a burger of all things in the train station.
“You all right, Harry? Yer very quiet,” said Hagrid through a mouthful of his bacon cheeseburger, his other fingers rustling around in a small tray of chips.
Harry wasn’t sure he could explain. He’d just had the best birthday of his life… and yet he chewed his hamburger, trying to find the words.
“Everyone thinks I’m special,” he said at last. “All those people in the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Mr. Ollivander… but I don’t know anything about magic at all That girl knew more about magic than I did, and we are probably the same age. I mean, I didn’t even know what Quidditch was! How can they expect great things? I’m famous and I can’t even remember what I’m famous for. I don’t know what happened when Vol-, sorry, I mean, the night my parents died.”
Hagrid leaned across the table. Behind the wild beard, thick eyebrows, and a moustache smeared with mustard, he wore a very kind smile. “Don’ you worry, Harry. You’ll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you’ll be just fine. Just be yerself. I know it’s hard. Yeh’ve been singled out, an’ that’s always hard. But yeh’ll have a great time at Hogwarts. I did. Still do, ‘smatter of fact.”
After they had finished their burgers and tossed away their rubbish, Hagrid helped Harry on to the train that would take him back to the Dursleys, then handed him an envelope.
“Yer ticket fer Hogwarts, “ he said. “First o’ September, King’s Cross. It’s all on yer ticket. Any problems with the Dursleys, send me a letter with yer owl, she’ll know where to find me…. See yeh soon, Harry.”
The train pulled out of the station. Harry wanted to watch Hagrid until he was out of sigh , rising in his seat and pressing his nose against the window, but he blinked, and Hagrid had gone.