Harry couldn't believe his luck today. First he found that money. Then he met Professor Snape again, who turned out not to be a pervert, but a real teacher at a real school that Harry was invited to. Then Harry got offered a free lunch with no strings attached. After that, he found a pair of brilliant red trainers in the charity shop that looked practically brand new and just his size. THEN to top it all off he found Diagon Alley and Gringotts and had more gold than he could ever even count!!
His parents weren't "drug addicted losers".
He scoffed at that lie Petunia told him. They were clearly geniuses! Only really smart people made this much money in their life.
Harry was humming happily over an ice cream cone he got at a place called Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. He had already gotten most of his supplies and all that was left was his robes, his wand, and a pet if he could get one.
Maybe a toad? Toads are in the alleys all the time.
He snorted at himself. He could barely feed himself most days, he definitely couldn't feed a toad.
Although... he did have a lot of wizard money. He should be able to feed himself now. Maybe he could rent a room at that little tavern he came in through? He was pretty sure he saw a sign for an inn in the same building. Muggle places wouldn't rent a room to him unless he had an adult with him.
Harry smirked when he remembered how happy the barkeep for the tavern, Tom, was when he met him. He probably wouldn't have an issue renting a room to 'The Harry Potter'.
He brightened considerably when he realized that meant he could actually take a shower and he hurried to finish his shopping so he could get to it.
He entered the shop that Professor Snape told him he should visit for his robes, Madam Malkins, and was surprised at how normal of a clothes store it looked like. He hadn't been in a department store since before he left the Dursleys, but he thought it looked a bit like a Muggle store with the shelves stacked high with clothes and fabric and racks of robes against the walls.
The owner, according to her name tag, Madam Malkin, greeted him as he stared around the room. In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes.
After Harry told her what he needed Madam Malkin had him take his jacket off and then stood him on a stool next to the other boy. She slipped a long robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length.
He didn't like her having her hands on his body and held himself stiffly, with his jaw clenched, to get through the fitting.
"Hello," said the blonde boy, "Hogwarts, too?"
"Yep," Harry gritted out.
The boy looked at him curiously. "Are you alright?"
Harry nodded sharply, "'M fine."
The boy kept staring. "Okaaay, sure. Well I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."
Harry glanced at him, not sure if he was having him on or not. It sounded like a nickname some of the street kids used, but this boy looked too posh to be on the streets.
"That your real name or your street name?"
"I- I don't even- what in Merlins name is a 'street name'?"
Harry grinned a little. Definitely too posh to be on the streets. "Nevermind then, 'M Potter, Harry Potter."
Draco forgot all his lessons on decorum as he gaped at him. This short, scrawny, slip of a boy, who barely looked 9, and definitely not 11, who covered in scars and ugly clothes was the Harry Potter??
"What all do you have left to buy?" Draco asked politely, masking his surprise. "I still need a wand, and I want to look at broomsticks."
Harry shrugged, not sure why they would need a broomstick. He wasn't going to be sweeping the floors for his meals. "Just a wand."
"There you are dear, all done." Madam Malkin cheerfully patted Harry on the shoulder, who flinched so harshly at the sudden contact that he promptly fell off the stool and landed with a soft little 'oomph' on his back.
"Here, Potter," Draco reached a hand out to him. "Let me help you."
Harry ignored the offered hand and stood up. His face was red from falling, but he wasn't about to look weak, like he needed help, either.
"Th-thanks," Harry mumbled.
Draco had never seen someone as odd as Harry Potter. He was supposed to be the strongest wizard in the world! He defeated the most powerful dark wizard ever when he was just a baby! But he looked like he was under active spell fire just getting robes fitted and fell down when the shopkeeper touched him. Harry was a really odd kid.
Draco just nodded at him though. "Well I suppose I'll see you on the train?"
"Yeah, suppose I'll see ya there." Harry was inching towards the door, keeping an eye on Madame Malkin and Draco. They seemed nice enough but you could never really be sure who was going to attack you when your back is turned.
He was almost to the door when Draco called after him, "Potter! You forgot your jacket!"
Harry gave him a grateful look, that jacket was still warm and he'd had it for a long time. "Thanks, Draco." He concentrated for a brief second and thought, I want my jacket.
Draco gasped aloud when Harry wordlessly, and wandlessly, summoned his jacket to him. He actually was the strongest wizard ever! It wasn't all just made up stories and rumors! Even his Uncle Sev, who was one of the greatest wizards he knew, needed a wand for almost all his spells. Just wait until his Father heard about this!
Harry, ignorant of Dracos reaction to his magic, continued on his way to the wand makers shop. He stuck to the edges of the building, not wanting to be jostled by the crowds, and kept a wary eye on the people passing by.
The 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 he stepped inside. Harry felt strangely as though he had entered a very strict library. He glanced at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling and kept his back close to the wall so nobody entering the shop could sneak up behind him. 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 at his sudden appearance in front of him and took a couple steps backwards until he could feel the stone wall behind him.
An old man was standing before him, his wide, pale eyes shining like moon through the gloom of the shop.
Harry nodded at him, "H-hello. 'M here for my w-wand."
"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. "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 reached out, as if to touch the lightning scar on Harry's forehead with his long, white finger. Harry pulled up his magic and put his hand out in front of him, "Don't touch me."
A loud crack echoed in the room and Ollivander was pushed back from Harry so quickly he stumbled over a chair and fell to the ground.
Harry went pale. He'd just attacked an adult. A magic adult. He was about to flee and say sod it to a wand, he didn't need one anyway, when Ollivander began chuckling.
"My, my, my. Mr Potter. You are an interesting one aren't you?"
Harry was edging towards the door, in case Ollivander decided to hurt him for knocking him down.
"What do you say we see if we can find a wand that's willing to work with you?"
Harry stopped his hasty exit. Ollivander didn't even seem mad. Harry nodded and moved a little further to the center of the room, but he kept close to the wall, just in case.
Mr. Ollivander gave him 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 — I use my right hand the most," said Harry. It was evident enough with the scars he carried on his right hand and arm from the many fights he'd gotten in; some he won and some he lost.
He used to lose fights all the time, but he rarely did anymore.
Ollivander moved closer to Harry and held up his hands, one still holding the measuring tape, in a placating gesture. "Hold out your arm. I'm only going to measure you with this tape measure. Good lad, 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 was very aware that the tape measure was now measuring between his nostrils. He was considering batting it away from him when Ollivander came back from the shelves.
"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 stupid) 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? Your core is probably not used to using a conductor now. Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere — I wonder, now — yes, why not — unusual combination — holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."
Harry took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. 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 . . ."
Harry didn't want to stay in this shop alone with this odd man much longer but he couldn't help but ask, "What's so 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 scoffed. Even though he knew which scar he meant, the lightning bolt one that everyone in this world seemed obsessed with, he had a bloody lot of scars and didn't think that one was very special.
Ollivander ignored his scoff and kept talking. "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 didn't think he liked Ollivander too much but he was excited to hear that he would probably be a great wizard. He left the shop with images of himself powerful and making everyone who hurt him regret it as he walked back to the Leaky Cauldron to ask about a room.