The revelation that he, Harry Potter, possessed a vault filled with gold coins was as bewildering as the discovery of the magical world itself. Guided by Hagrid, whose stoic demeanor offered little in the way of emotional support, they navigated through Diagon Alley's bustling streets. Gringotts, with its imposing white marble, guarded by goblins whose sharp eyes missed nothing. Harry felt a shiver run down his spine, the combination of awe and a mild trepidation making his heart race.
Inside, the air was cool and filled with the echo of whispered conversations and the clinking of coins. Hagrid and Harry were led down deep, spiraling underground corridors by a goblin called Griphook, their cart speeding through the dark until they reached Vault 687. The door swung open to reveal piles of gold, silver, and bronze that glinted in the torchlight. Harry's eyes widened in disbelief; he had never seen so much money in his life, let alone imagined it could belong to him. The sight of his own wealth, gold gleaming in the dim light, left Harry speechless and momentarily distracted from his growing sense of isolation.
However, it wasn't long before reality reasserted itself, this time in the form of Harry's Hogwarts school robes fitting at Madam Malkin's. It was there that Harry met Ron Weasley for the first time. Ron's presence was initially unremarkable, just another boy getting fitted for school. Yet, any hope of camaraderie quickly evaporated with Ron's cutting remark about Harry's small stature: "I expected the famous Harry Potter to be a bit bigger, honestly." His words, sharp and dismissive, echoed with the same disdain Harry had grown accustomed to in the presence of his cousin Dudley.
This brief exchange with Ron, filled with veiled insults and unwarranted expectations, cast a shadow over Harry's day. Ron's comment lingered in Harry's mind, tainting his interactions and the new experiences that should have been filled with wonder. Even Hagrid, whom Harry had hoped might offer some comfort or advice, remained distant and preoccupied, his own concerns overshadowing Harry's growing discomfort.
Following the tumultuous fitting for his school robes and the uncomfortable encounter with Ron Weasley, Harry and Hagrid's next stop was to procure his potions equipment. They navigated through the throngs of Diagon Alley to reach a shop that seemed to whisper secrets from its shadowed doorway: "Slug & Jiggers Apothecary." Here, amidst the myriad scents of herbs and the gleam of glass jars filled with curious substances, Harry found himself momentarily freed from the weight of his earlier interactions.
The shop was a cavern of wonders, with shelves lined from floor to ceiling with ingredients that Harry could never have imagined existed. Bundles of dried herbs, jars of powders that shimmered with an inner light, and vials of liquids that seemed to swirl with their own contained storms. Harry was drawn from one to the next, his earlier discomfort forgotten in his fascination. Hagrid, meanwhile, consulted a list, his large finger tracing down the parchment as he muttered to himself. His demeanor remained detached, offering no commentary on the wonders around them, leaving Harry to explore in solitude.
Harry picked up a set of brass scales, feeling the cool metal under his fingertips, and examined a mortar and pestle made of what appeared to be black marble. He was particularly intrigued by a jar labeled "Powdered Griffin Claw" and another containing "Flobberworm Mucus." The names were strange, evoking images of a world so vast and varied that Harry felt a surge of excitement about the lessons that awaited him at Hogwarts.
As Hagrid gathered the necessary items on the list—glass phials, a pewter cauldron, and a selection of standard potion ingredients—Harry lingered over a display of crystal vials that promised to change the color of any potion stored within. It was a small, perhaps insignificant detail in the grand scheme of his entrance into the wizarding world, yet it symbolized the depth and mystery that magic held.
The encounter at Madam Malkin's, the weight of Ron's words, and even Hagrid's distant demeanor seemed to recede in Harry's mind as he immersed himself in the potential of what he could learn, of what he could become. The world of potions, with its precise measurements and the transformative power of its brews, represented a realm of magic that was tangible, understandable, and utterly fascinating.
As they left the apothecary, Harry's bag heavier with the tools and ingredients of his future studies, he felt a renewed sense of purpose. The day had been a rollercoaster of emotions, from the disbelief and wonder of discovering his vault at Gringotts to the sting of Ron's rudeness and the peculiar aloofness of Hagrid. Yet, standing amidst the magical bustle of Diagon Alley, Harry felt a spark of something new: a determination to delve into the mysteries of magic, to learn and to grow beyond the confines of his past.
In the fading light of Diagon Alley, Harry and Hagrid made their way to the final stop of their tumultuous day: Ollivanders, Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. The shop, narrow and shabby, seemed to lean slightly as if bearing the weight of its long history. As they entered, a bell tinkled softly, announcing their arrival to the shop's sole occupant.
Mr. Ollivander emerged from the shadows, a slender man with wide, pale eyes that seemed to bore into Harry's very soul. "Ah, Mr. Potter," he whispered, his voice carrying an unsettling intensity. "I wondered when I would be seeing you."
Harry, already on edge from the day's earlier events, felt a shiver run down his spine. There was something about Ollivander, something indefinable, that put him on high alert. The wandmaker's gaze was penetrating, almost as if he could see through Harry, and the air in the shop felt thick, heavy with anticipation and something else Harry couldn't quite name.
As Ollivander began the process of finding Harry's wand, Harry couldn't shake the feeling of unease. Wand after wand was passed into his hands, each one seemingly wrong in its own way. Some felt too heavy, others too light; some vibrated with an energy that felt overwhelming, while others lay lifeless and dull. With each failed attempt, Ollivander's gaze seemed to grow more intense, his excitement undimmed by the lack of success.
Finally, a wand of holly and phoenix feather was placed into Harry's hesitant grip. The shop's atmosphere seemed to shift, a current of energy running through the air. Yet, contrary to what Harry had expected—what he had hoped to feel—the sensation was not one of overwhelming connection or destiny fulfilled. Instead, there was a subtle acknowledgment, a recognition of compatibility rather than a profound bond. It was as if the wand had chosen him not out of affinity, but out of necessity.
Ollivander clapped his hands together, a smile playing on his lips. "Curious," he murmured, more to himself than to Harry. "Very curious."
Harry, holding the wand that had chosen him, felt no surge of joy or power. Instead, he was left with a lingering sense of disquiet. Ollivander's cryptic words and the wand's subdued acceptance left Harry wondering if there was something amiss, something fundamentally lacking in the bond between wizard and wand.
As they left Ollivanders, the weight of the wand in his pocket felt disproportionate to its physical size. Harry couldn't shake the feeling that something just wasn't right, a feeling that was compounded by the day's emotional rollercoaster. The discomfort and unease that had permeated his visit to Ollivanders lingered, a shadow that followed him as he stepped back into the bustling street of Diagon Alley, the wand's quiet presence a constant reminder of the complexities and uncertainties of the magical world he was about to enter.
The journey back to the Dursleys' was quiet, with Harry lost in thought and Hagrid maintaining his silent vigil. Harry clutched his wand, the tangible symbol of his entry into the wizarding world, and looked ahead to the start of term at Hogwarts with a complex mixture of apprehension and anticipation. The day had ended not with the resolution of his uncertainties but with the promise of discovery, a promise that lay at the heart of the magic that now claimed him as its own.
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Severus Snape and his Hufflepuff Heir
FanfictionI have previously written one fan fiction however I wasn't really feeling the vibe of that one so I have decided to write a new one, it will follow a similar style, Harry is going to Hogwarts, who will he meet there, where will he be sorted and who...
