“Bye Dud, have fun!”

“And if anyone hits you with their staff, thwack ‘em in the nagers!”

“Sirius Orion Black!” Severus fumed, folding his navy silk clad arms. “You’re supposed to be setting a good example. And you.” Behind steel specticles, hazel eyes glared in mock-fury upon the chuckling redhead at his side.

“And it’s a ‘Smeltings Stick” Dudley replied slightly pompously. He tugged at the straw hat which was sliding slightly upon his smooth, massy flaxen hair and sighed. “I can’t believe we still have to wear these things.”

“Dead fashionable in, oh, 1900” Sirius sniggered, his jersey pulling across his rounded stomach as he laughed.

Harry gave his uncle a look so old fashioned that it practically predated his parents’ alma mater “Sirius, the Hogwarts uniform’s been the same since 1598” Harry turned to Dudley and added “At least you’re not wearing a dress, Dud!”

Dudley forced a grin “Well, I guess I better get this over with!”

“And if you don’t enjoy the induction day, well, there are other options.” Lily said, handing Dudley his “Spiderman” lunchbox. “We just thought, as your Dad went there…”

“I know Aunty Lil.” Dudley replied, butterflies forming in his stomach. He tugged his maroon jacket, in an effort to straighten it around the curve of his belly.

Severus smoothed his tie “Would you like me to come in with you. Just to see you to reception” he added, noticing Dudley’s blush and look of panic.

“Nah, you guys get on. I’ll be okay.” Dudley bit his lip, knowing that he should head off into the school but unsure as to how.”

“Go gettem Dud!” Sirus fished in the cavernous pocket of his thick leather jacket, then slowly bowled a bar of Honeydukes chocolate just over the blond boy’s shoulder. “Catch!”

Dudley laughed and ran, grabbing the chocolate before it hit the ground. He looked over his shoulder and grinned at the little group “Well, best be off. Bye.” 

“Bye!”

“We’ll be here at four on the dot!”

“And then we’re going to Fortescues!"

“And if anyone gives you trouble kick… mm if fuu nuffeff!”

Dudley smiled. Today was going to go okay.

oOoOo

As, with one last wave, Dudley strode into Smeltings, Severus turned to his son and, slipping a tapering hand into the inner pocked of his navy, double-breasted jacket, pulled free a large, creamy envelope. On the front, in a curly green script proclaimed;

“Mr. H. M. S. Potter,
C.O. Severus Potter,
13th Floor,
Ministry of Magic,
London.”

Behind his round glasses, Harry’s green eyes widened “Is that..?”

“Your Hogwarts letter, Harry” Lily replied with a smile “Your Dad had a word with Dumbledore. Special circumstances.”

“Being Minister has some perks” grinned Sirius. “Not that Crouch allows us to pull rank. Speaking of which, we’d better get going, Mrs. Potter; Barty’ll make us sit in the naughty chair if we’re late again!”

“Bye Harry, have a nice time in Diagon Alley!” Lily ruffled Harry’s long, dark locks affectionately.

The eleven-year- old looked up from his letter, a smile spreading across his face “We’re going to Diagon Alley? Really?!”

“Yup, sprat. Your Dad’s sorted it.” Sirius smirked. “Consider it an un-birthday treat. You’ll be meeting your bodyguards in the Leaky Cauldron.”

Harry nodded. Crouch never allowed Sirius on bodyguard duty, let alone his Mum, who was only allowed out of the office under polyjuice.

“Do you have the portkey, Sirus?”

“Yup, here we are. Due to go at nine o’clock on the dot.” he replied, reaching into his cavernous pocket. A bag of Harry’s favourite sweets, Dolly Mixtures, emerged.

Severus raised a sable eyebrow. Sirus blushed.

“Well, after you and Harry have eaten the sweets, the wrapper’ll just be rubbish. Perfectly above board.”

Lily laughed at her incorrigible colleague. “See you later, guys. Have fun.”

Harry looked away, wincing, as his mother pressed a kiss on his father’s lips. Why did his parents have to be so disgusting sometimes?

“Never mind, Harry, they might grow out of it.” Sirius chuckled, nudging the boy with his elbow. “Look after that Dad of yours, y’hear?"

Harry grinned “Sure.”

“It’s almost nine, Harry.” Severus said quietly, proffering the bag to his son.

Harry had only time to cry “Bye Mum, Bye Siri.” before the world became a whirl of colour.

oOoOo

The Leaky Cauldron, with its oak panelled walls, plush yet faded chairs and scent of beer, tobacco and pickled onions, was probably Harry’s very favourite place. Or, it would have been if not for the crowd which always descended mere seconds after his father arrived.

“Bless my soul, it’s Mr Potter!”

“Mr Potter is here. He’s actually here!”

“Can’t believe it!”

As chairs scraped backwards, a huge hand fell on Harry’s shoulder. Harry’s lips quirked; there was only one person that could be.

“Hargid!”

“Hello, Harry, Sev’rus.” The half-giant replied “An’ I’m right pleased to see yeh too!” he added, beaming down at Harry, who had thrown his arms around Hagrid’s midriff and latched on like a limpet.

As Severus turned to shake hands with the crowd, Harry noticed the shiny cage by Hagrid’s ankle. Under the velvet cover, something with sharp black claws, thin, scaly legs and white feathers stood on a thick perch.

“What’s that Hagrid?”

“Werl, you know how I couldn’t make yeh birthday, being busy with them firecrabs?”

“He remembers! Did you hear that? He remembers me!” 
“Of course I do, Dedalus. We fought at Fairfax and Crowborough together.” 

“Yeah.” Harry replied. Dumbledore had turned up at six o’clock yesterday evening, thumping embers from his cerise robes, and apologising for his gamekeeper’s absence from Harry’s birthday party. Apparently they had only just managed to put out the fire.

“Werl, I got you summat to make up for it.” Hagrid pulled the cover aside to reveal a beautiful snowy owl. “Ain’t she a beauty?!"

“Doris Crockford, Mr Potter, can’t believe I’m meeting you at last.” 
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Madam.”

“Wow!” Harry gasped, green eyes meeting amber. “I didn’t know any snowy owls were trained!”

“Rare ‘un she is. Ordered ‘er in special like.”

“Dad! Dad! Look what Hagrid’s got me!” Harry cried, tugging at his father’s sleeve.

“Excuse me, Sir,” Severus turned around. For a moment affection battled with concern in his hazel eyes before settling into a look of resignation.

“Well, Hagrid, at least Harry will not fail to recognise her.” Severus replied, mentally adding: ‘and nor will anyone else!’

“Tha’s just what I thought! Werl, we better get goin’ I got a business to do at Gringotts. Hogwarts business.” He added with a wink of his beetle black eyes.

 

As Severus made his farewells, aided by Hagrid, Harry noticed, from the corner of his eye, a pale young man was sitting at the bar and staring hard at his father. Clutching his new pet’s cage firmly, Harry turned and looked at the man, who averted his gaze immediately.

“Dad. That man was looking at you.” he whispered, sliding his fingers into his father’s gloved hand.

Tense and clutching his pink umbrella, Hagrid turned, then breathed out a sigh of relief. “Don’t fash yehself, Harry. Tha’s just Quirrell, Professor Quirrell to yeh. Very shy man. Prob’ly too shy to make himself known. Tha’s all.”

oOoOo

Gringotts, with its snowy white walls, bronze doors and population of scarlet clad goblins was, as always, brilliant. No sooner had Severus, Hagrid and Harry entered the door than they were met by goblin so ancient that his skin had faded to the gold of his robes. Flanking him were two guards; although their silver mail looked decorative, the large, double-headed axes they held were anything but.   

“Minister Potter” he intoned, bowing stiffly. “It is an honour.”

“Vakvel Hawkgr’ll.” Severus replied, bowing deeply before clasping the goblin’s long, ring-encrusted fingers in a gentle hand. “The honour is all mine.” 

A smile entered Harkgr’ll dark, clever eyes “A shared honour, perhaps. Vakvel and Minister looking upon each other, not as each the other’s inferior, but as equals.”

“Indeed.”

“And what may Gringotts do for you today, Minister?”

“I wish to open an account for my son, Harry.” Severus replied, guiding the child forward with his hand. Blushing, Harry attempted to bow to the Goblin King, a difficult feat with his arms full of owl-cage.

“Greetings, little one” smiled the ancient goblin. “Ah, pin money for Hogwarts, I expect? To be spent on sweets and tricks and other toys, no doubt.”

“An' I have business down at vault seven-hundred and thirteen.” Hagrid said importantly, tugging a somewhat crumpled letter from his pocket. “Dumbledore wrote me a chit.”

“Griphook!” Another, much younger goblin, who had been standing beside one of the many doorways, strode over smugly.

“Yes, my Lord?” he asked, bowing deeply.

“Take Mr Hagrid to vault seven-hundred and thirteen whilst I attend Minister Potter.”

Griphook looked askance at the group but only said “Of course, my Lord.”

As Hagrid was lead away, Hawkgr’ll motioned for Harry and Severus to follow him.  “It is a bit of a climb to my chambers,” he wheezed as they ascended a white stone, spiral staircase “but well worth it, I assure you, young Harry.”

With one hand on the balustrade and the other still clutching his precious owl-cage, Harry nodded; the strain of climbing the stairs was tightening the backs of his legs. Not that he would admit it or relinquish hold of his owl, of course.

Eventually, they stepped into a huge, airy chamber, more like a church than an ordinary room. Along the wall, under a line of intricate rose-windows, hung hundreds of huge scrolls, each decorated by a myriad of impressive wax seals. At the very end of the corridor three huge, arched windows formed a backdrop to an elephantine, leather-topped desk, in which was set an axe wrought of diamond. 

“Wow!” the tousle-haired boy gasped. The goblin king smiled indulgently.

“It takes many that way, young human.” Hawkgr’ll said solemnly “Three thousand years look down on us: some good, some not so good but all important in their way.”

When they reached the desk, Harry noticed that the marble floor had a pattern of pentagrams, each spaced two paces from the next, in the pattern of a chess-board.

“Step onto one of the stars, Harry” Severus suggested, winking at Hawkgr’ll.  

No sooner had Harry’s feet landed on the pentagram than a leather chair knocked them from under him.

“Woah!”

“So much more convenient than spells or servants.” The ancient goblin smirked.

“How did you get it to do that?!” Harry exclaimed, peering over the edges of the wood framed chair.

“Now, Harry, it is considered impolite in goblin society to ask about craft secrets.” Severus said seriously.

“Oh,” Harry blushed “Sorry.”

“No matter, young Harry. I asked the mason myself; he was a distant descendant of the goblin who built this floor and had come in to sharpen up the symbols. I remember how my great grandfather boxed my ears. Heirs are ten-a-knut compared to master artificers.” he chuckled wryly.

“What does ‘box’ mean?” Harry asked.

Goblin and man laughed in unison. “Some might take that as a request for an example, child. However, I do not wish to start a war. Now then, to business.”

As Severus and Hawkgr’ll discussed interest-rates, vault locations and overdraft facilities, Harry swung his legs and looked around the beautiful room. Between the three arched windows were two long scrolls; one, the lengthiest, was entitled ‘Lupin’s Law; 1986’. If Harry hadn’t recognised the surname, his father’s triangular, turquoise seal was pretty conclusive evidence. For a few minutes, Harry attempted to read but the writing was so curly and so small that he couldn’t get much further than; ‘It is hereby proclaimed that all magical folk are held as equal under judicature of England, Ireland, Scotland and Wales…”

The second scroll was written in strange symbols but, again, the Potter seal was stamped at the bottom, next to a seal which seemed to have been stamped into molten gold. Harry knew just enough to identify Gobbledyn, the goblin alphabet, but the rest was Gobbledegook to him- in both the muggle and Goblin sense!

Between the scrolls stood a glass showcase in which a beautiful ebony wand rested on a red velvet pillow. Harry grinned; in a few minutes, he’d be getting a wand all of his own. His father had told him a little about wand lore and Harry couldn’t wait to discover what his new wand’s core and wood revealed about himself.  

Harry’s happy daydream dispersed as Hawkgr’ll thumped his fist on the table. “Well, now, Minister. I think we can strike a deal on those terms.”

“Indeed.” Severus nodded. “If you would be so good as to deposit forty galleons from the main Potter account?”

“I hear that it was this lad’s birthday yesterday?” Hawkgr’ll inquired suddenly. When Harry nodded, the goblin’s sharp, clever face split into a smile. “Gringotts will round that up to fifty, then. Never let it be said that the Goblins are not generous to our allies.”

oOoOo

When Harry and Severus descended into Gringotts main hallway, it was to discover a rather green Hagrid all but hanging onto one of the walls. When he saw them, the half-giant’s beetle black eyes creased in relief. 

“All sorted?”

“Yes, thank you Hagrid.” Severus replied politely, inclining his head. “I am sorry to have kept you waiting.”

“No problem. Uh, listen Sev, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts!”

Severus’ raised a sable eyebrow “I scarcely believe that Dumbledore would approve”

Hagrid blushed “Yeah, I know but I’m feelin’ bl…oomin’ awful. I need summat to settle my stomach sharpish, if you catch my drift.”

“Perhaps a sojourn to Fortescues. I believe they serve a range of alcohol.”

There is only one thing closer to bliss than sitting outside a café, in a comfortable chair, watching the world go buy as you eat a huge sundae comprised of your favourite ice cream, summer fruits, whipped cream and a shiny cherry. Actual bliss is the same situation, with the added benefit of being an eleven year old, on your summer holiday, during a perfect English July day of soft sunshine and sweetly-scented breezes.

Sucking on a spoonful of chocolate ice-cream, Harry grinned at his father, who was somehow managing to eat his Malaga, pistachio and amaretti ice cream cone without losing a single dribble or perceptibly licking it.

Severus smiled back “Now, Harry, do you have your Hogwarts letter?”

“Yeah” the tousle-haired child rummaged in his coat pocket, finally dragging free the overlarge letter.

“When I was but a boy of your age, my Grandmother took me to buy my school-things. My parents, being very much involved with village life, were usually too busy to visit London, so they owl-ordered everything. However, my Grandmother Persephone was a great believer in practical lessons and, as most of my relatives were elderly, she though that the sooner I learnt to handle my finances, the better.”

Severus smirked in recollection “Thus, I gained the princely sum of thirty galleons, opened my first bank account and then went on to spend a great deal of my fortune. My grandmother, however, gave me a few hints and tips which meant that, when I received my stipend the following term, I hardly had to spend a knut of it on school supplies.”

Hagrid looked up from his Calvados sorbet “Bein’ able to handle a budget’s dead importan’ Harry. Me Dad tried doin’ much the same when I started Hogwarts: gave me a bag of galleons an’ tol me to choose me own stuff, with the remainder to spend on a pet.”

Harry perked up: mentally, he’s already spent his windfall of fifty galleons on a broomstick -preferably the brand new Nimbus- and to discover those precious coins would, instead have to be wasted on unimportant things, like clothes and equipment, had been a blow. He gazed with imploring green eyes at his father, who raised a sable eyebrow. Tenacious, Harry widened his eyes, trying his best to emulate Ginny’s patented ‘puppy dog’ look. Severus’ mouth quirked, his hazel eyes crinkling.

Grinning, Harry turned back to Hagrid “What sort of pet did you buy?”  

The large man blushed and, scratching his beard, gave a sheepish grin “Werl, I was a bit… over eager, see. Went to the pet shop first…"

“May I just mention, Harry, that you will be buying your school supplies first and fripperies afterwards” Severus interjected sardonically.

“Blew most of it on a griffin egg an’ had to go to second hand shops for me books and robes.” Hagrid chuckled “Me Dad wasn’t best pleased. Never had such a scoldin!”

Harry looked at the plump, moke-skin bag, which was charmed to be directly linked to his Gringotts account. Although he loved flying- a rare pleasure as his parents and, moreover, his friends parents were loathe to isolate Dudley- he really didn’t want to disappoint his father. Mum’s temper was as fiery as her hair and, over the years, both Harry and Dudley had screamed back at her, stamped their feet and generally been brats until Lily had brought out the doomsday weapon- tears- which shamed them into repentance.

Dad, however, was another story completely. Legend was that he’d never raised a hand to anyone except Voldemort. The truth, however, was that he didn’t need to; when Severus’ voice softened to an arctic whisper, only the suicidally stupid would try their luck. Ice beat fire any day, in Harry and Dudley’s opinion, and, thus, Harry resigned himself. After all, it wasn’t if he’d be able to try out for the team until next year…

“Whilst you’re eating your knickerbocker glory” Severus continued “I’d like you to try and work out how much each on the list item will cost, plus anything else you think you might need.”

Harry nodded forlornly; he always managed to forget something.

“Then, once you’ve finished, you need to write down a list, including prices, and calculate the total.” Severus added.

“I’m no good at maths, Dad!” Harry moaned, his green eyes beseeching.

Severus raised an arched eyebrow “This is a matter of addition, not calculus, Harry. I am sure you are quite capable.”

Grumbling, Harry attacked his ice-cream with renewed vigour. Why couldn’t his parents just buy his stuff for him, like normal people did!”

OoOoO

By the time Harry scooped the last dregs of vanilla-fudge from his glass, however, the task his father had set him didn’t seem too daunting; the school list was pretty comprehensive and, having overheard Mrs Weasley the previous year, Harry knew that he’d need certain extras- namely a set of standard potion ingredients and writing supplies.

Besides, Harry thought happily, he wouldn’t need two of the books on this list; Madam Bagshot had given both Harry and Dudley copies of “A History of Magic” after Dudley, in all innocence, had informed the old author that she should write a book.* “Magical Drafts and Potions” had, serendipitously enough, been a present from Percy Weasley; Harry had inherited his parents’ talent for potions and, when he’d asked the third-year student if he could borrow the book- which looked interesting- and Perce had made a gift of it.

So, if you said two and a half galleons for each book, five galleons for each piece of equipment, ten galleons for the wand, five galleons for a set of robes, two for the hat, five for the cloak, three for potions supplies, two for writing material…

“Dad, I can’t make it come to under seventy galleons!” Harry whined.

Smirking, Severus held out his hand for the list. When he scanned Harry’s costings, the smirk grew wider “I also see that you haven’t accounted for a trunk or name tags or a book bag. And your poor owl is to go without food, treats or sand for the bottom of its cage?"

Harry threw his arms, cross-wise, over the table and collapsed upon them with a soul-creaking groan. Hagrid chuckled.

“Don’t worry yehself, lad!” the half-giant smiled, setting the ice-cream glasses jangling as he patted Harry on the back. “Owls catch their own grub, the sand in the cage is self-cleaning an’ owl treats are a sickle a dozen. Dead cheap. Sides, I got yeh a packet.” Hagrid began emptying his pockets

“And Madam Malkin adds name tags upon request.” Severus added with a smile “As for the trunk, there are five in our attic- all in relatively good condition apart from your uncle Sirius’- and your mother has a very nice brass telescope, which she inherited from your great uncle, an astrologer I believe.”

Harry raised his head and looked balefully at his father, who smirkingly added: “Although the first step in working out a budget is to find out what one needs, the second step is to check what one already has. Nevertheless, you have been over-generous with your estimations; forty galleons should be ample to completely outfit a child for their first year at Hogwarts. The scholarship children only receive thirty.”

“But…” the dark haired child retorted.

“Your estimate on the price of books is fair, though, as these are school texts, Flourish and Blotts supplies them at a substantial discount.”

“Mos’ shops do a school discount.” Hagrid added. “It’s always worth askin.’”

Harry pulled a face “But Dad, we’re rich! We don’t need to go around finding bargains.”

Severus’ hazel eyes were stern behind his wire-rimmed glasses “Firstly talking about one’s financial status in such a way is vulgar; one either whines or boasts. Secondly, if one does not respect money, one loses it and, thirdly, being in a position where one’s finances comfortably cover one’s needs does not make one better than someone who has no choice but to ‘go around finding bargains’.”

“I know that!” Harry pouted, blushing. His dad was so mean sometimes; of course Harry knew he was not superior just because his family had money- he wasn’t a Malfoy for Isis’ sake!

“I hope that you do.” Severus replied evenly. “Now, we have been sitting around for long enough. I think we should first visit Eben Saddler.”

“Whose he?” Harry asked. Hagrid laughed.

“The clue’s in the name, lad. His fam’ly have been tanners an’ leatherworkers since Merlin! All the outfitters buy his stuff. Best in the business.”

“However,” Severus added, unfolding his slender frame from the chair and smoothing his suit “going directly means that one, firstly, has a choice of his entire range and, secondly, avoids a substantial mark-up. His shop is on the corner adjoining Knockturn alley.”

“But why are we going their first?” Harry insisted, feeling a bit cross with himself for not realising the link between name and profession sooner.

“You will need a sturdy bag to carry your books.” Severus replied smartly, starting to stride away, into the crowd. “Chop, chop!”

OoOoO

Despite the inauspicious beginning, the shopping trip was actually great fun. Harry was used to being treated politely by people- his dad was Minister, after all- but  shop-keepers usually spoke mainly to his dad, even if they were buying something for him.

However, now Harry had a money bag in his hand, things were very different. Most  shop-keepers in Diagon Alley had inherited their shops and all knew that, when a young wizard enters a shop with a bulging money bag and proud parents standing three steps behind, it was a sure sign that young sir was learning the value of money. Therefore, Harry was advised soundly, shown the best of their wares and generally treated as master of his own fortune. He loved it.

Thus, at the end of two hours of careful shopping, Harry had a beautiful pair of emerald green dragon-hide gloves (‘with thick gauntlets to protect sir’s wrists’), a sturdy, many pocketed bag with undetectable extending and lightening charms, a complete set of books (‘a galleon each- every publisher wants their books on Hogwarts’ list and Dumbledore drives a hard bargain’), his potions supplies- from a little, drab looking apothecary shop which Harry would have ignored if his dad hadn’t pointed it out (‘cauldron, crystal vials, scales and standard ingredients; the equipment has a lifetime guarantee. Ten galleons for the set’).

The stationers was another shop where his father’s knowledge came in handy; linen paper rolls were longer, lighter, stronger and cheaper than animal hide. Not to mention, Harry thought happily as he handed over four galleons, that his new bottle of colour-changing ink would look much more vivid on the creamy paper.

Hagrid, on the other hand, came up trumps in Madam Malkins; as a child, the half-giant would have grown out of his clothes very quickly, had they not already been torn by his boisterous pets. Thus, Harry learnt the benefits of acromantula silk (‘yeh’ll not tear it, Harry, even if yeh fight manticores!’) and self adjusting spells on clothes (‘allows up to ten square inches of growth’). Although silk, self adjusting robes were three galleons more than ordinary sets, the total bill actually came to four galleons less than the sum for which Harry had originally accounted.

Thus, by the time the little group reached Ollivander’s, Harry had a comfortable eighteen galleons in his purse; okay, he wouldn’t get a broom for eight galleons but it was a nice start to his broomstick fund!

Unlike the shiny, modern ‘Scrivenschafts’ or plush, luxurious ‘Madam Malkins’ or even the cosy, old fashioned ‘Saddler’s’, Ollivander’s shop was, in Harry’s opinion, the very epitome of old magecraft; a mixture of age, absentmindedness and breathtaking ability. The narrow, shabby exterior, was a perfect foil for the peeling gold sign which proudly proclaimed ‘Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 BC’ and the beautiful, richly carved wand in the dusty window display was marvellous juxtaposed by the faded velvet cushion which bore it. Inside, the shop was much the same; tiny, cramped, dusty and stuffed to bursting with self upon shelf of narrow, wooden boxes. Sitting on the single, spindly chair, Harry found himself wondering whether the contents of this seemingly unattended shop was worth more than Gringotts itself.

As this thought entered his mind, the back of Harry’s neck prickled. The tousle-haired boy shook his head, guiltily folding his hands in his lap; you’d have to be mad to attempt to rob Ollivander’s.

“Good afternoon” said a soft voice. Harry jumped, as did Hagrid, but the unflappable Severus, to his son’s not inconsiderable irritation, merely turned and said “Good afternoon, Mr Ollivander.”

“Ah, Minister. I thought it would not be long before we met again. Your young son is but eleven now, is he not?”

“It was my birthday yesterday!” Harry replied, peering at the elderly man through his round glasses; Ollivander, like his shop, was a study of contrasts; with his messy white hair and lanky, slightly stooped figure, he might have passed for any old muggle man if not for his seemingly overlarge eyes, which were an astonishing shade of light silver.

Ollivander smiled down at the child “Was it indeed. The solar return on one’s birth is a particularly auspicious time. Perhaps a very fine wand will favour you today.” 

Harry’s dark eyebrows met his messy hairline.

“One of my best wands chose your father; walnut, stiff, thirteen inches. The scale at its core was the finest and fairest of blues, gifted to me by a noble chimera. Very misunderstood beings until, of course” the old man beamed happily “the great Equality Act of March 10th 1986. I sold many wands that day.”

Severus mouth quirked into a half-smile and he bowed “I am pleased to have been of service.”

“Lily Evans’ wand, however” Ollivander said, wandering off a tangent “was rather less powerful, though excellent for charms. Ten and a quarter inches, swishy, willow with a unicorn hair core.” A little smile graced the old man’s face “The combination was once called a ‘grail wand’; elegant, beautiful and sweet-natured, in the age of arranged marriages, many a young man would agree to an as yet unseen bride merely on the guarantee that she possessed such a wand.”

Harry folded his arms, unsure if he was happy about this conversation.

“But perhaps we should move on to business” Severus suggested, his hazel eyes sparkling with humour.

“Oh, indeed, indeed!” Ollivander agreed. “I have a new theory on wands, Severus. Have you heard of the muggle art of physiognomy?” the old man picked up a long tape measure with silver markings. “Hold out your arm please, young Harry.”

As the tape measure snaked around Harry’s body, taking measurements, Severus discussed the merits of muggle divination with Ollivander as the ancient wizard tugged boxes, seemingly at random, from the myriad of shelves.

“Does Master Potter know anything of wandlore?” Ollivander asked, finally setting down his armful of boxes.

“Yeah.” Harry replied shortly. He didn’t like people speaking about him as if he wasn’t able to answer questions himself.

“Harry knows a little about the main cores” Severus replied, with a reproving look at his son.

Ollivander picked a dark box off the pile “Runespore fang and oak, pliable. Ten inches.” he said, opening the box to reveal a golden wand “Just take it and give it a wave, my boy!”

Harry picked the wand out of the box and, straight backed, his green eyes alight with delight, gave a flourishing wave. Nothing happened.

“Never mind, never mind” Ollivander said, taking the wand back. “Hmm, perhaps Maple and phoenix feather, whippy. Try it out.”

Again, nothing happened.

“Perhaps if we try an extreme” the ancient wandmaker said, stroking his chin “Dragonstring and fir, eleven inches.”

Harry gingerly waved the wand, only to drop it when angry red sparks spat out of the end.

“No, definitely not. Perhaps something a little more friendly; rowan and unicorn hair, nine inches. Lovely little wand.”

The rowan, however, rejected Harry, as did the next, and the next, and the next. As the pile of wand boxes built up, the hot tide of panic crept up the self confident little boy’s throat; what if every wand rejected him?! What if he wasn’t really a wizard?!

Ollivander, on the other hand, seemed to become more excited with every failed match. “Tricky customer, eh? Well, we’ll find your wand soon enough. Ebony and unicorn hair, maybe?"

Five minutes and what felt like hundreds of rejections later, Harry was almost in tears. Severus placed his hand on his son’s shoulder “Perhaps a very special wand is destined for you, Harry. Mr Ollivander will find it. Never you fear!"

“I will indeed, my boy. Do not fret, I’ve never been beaten!” the ancient wandmaker’s hand fell upon a dusty box and he turned, his moon pale eyes lingering on Severus. “Hmm, why not. Worth a try.”

Ollivander slid the box from it’s shelf and swept away the thin covering of dust “Unusual combination, this, Holly and Phoenix feather. Eleven inches, nice and supple.”

A great sigh shaking his shoulders, Harry reached into the proffered box and picked up the elegant, reddish brown wand. Immediately, an almost loving warmth suffused his fingers, surging up his arm and embracing his entire being. Raising his arm, Harry brought the wand around in a great ark, a stream of red and gold sparks trailing behind it like a firework.

“Yes!” Harry cried, turning to look at his dad and Hagrid with happy green eyes.

“Well done Harry!”

“Knew yeh’d find one sooner or later!”

“Bravo!” said Mr Ollivander with a smile, replacing the wand in its container. “Well, well, well,” he tore a sheet of brown paper and began to wrap the box, “how very curious.”

“What is curious?” Severus asked, his dark eyes narrowed with interest.

“I remember every wand I have ever sold, Minister. Every single wand. The phoenix who gave the feather in your son’s wand gave another. Just one other.”

“Indeed” Severus drawled, folding his arms and leaning against the wall beside the counter.

“Yes, your son’s wand has a brother. Or, rather, had. It was defeated by the very wand which you hold in your sleeve.”

“Voldemort?!” Severus said, straightening up.

Ollivander shuddered “Yes, yew, thirteen and a half inches. Very powerful and, in the wrong hands exceptionally dangerous.” Ollivander sighed “Such a shame; it was a very good wand to begin with: yew is not a wood which relishes evil deeds.”

Harry swallowed, he was not so sure about his wand now.

Handing over the package, Ollivander smiled “I think we must expect great things from you, Master Potter. After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things, terrible, yes, but great.”

Harry felt the warm weight of his father’s hand on his shoulder “Holly is a wood of protection, healing and magic Harry and, as you know, there is nothing evil about phoenixes. You love Fawkes.”

“Indeed, it was Fawkes who gave the feather at your wand’s core” Ollivander added absentmindedly, as he attempted to find the end of his roll of spellotape.

His heart considerably lighter, Harry paid Mr. Ollivander his seven galleons and bounced from the shop, desperate to firecall his Mum and relay his absolutely amazing news.