Mother Magic and the Philosopher's stone

Chapter Seven

This trip to Diagon Alley would be the biggest in his life. Once again on a Sunday, when the Dursley's were at church and the cul-de-sac was quiet, Harry slipped away, embarking on the same journey he had done for years; two buses, a tube, and a snake that hated being jostled by strangers. He wondered how many mice he needed to give to make up for this.
He started with a trip to the bank, same as always. Collecting enough golden Galleons to make a muggle blush and worked his way down the equipment list.

Uniform
Three sets of plain work robes (black)
One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
One winter Cloak (Black, silver fastenings)

Easy enough, he supposed, spotting Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, the only shop that did a Hogwarts uniform and going inside. At the front desk was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve.
'Hogwarts, dear?' she asked when Harry started to speak. 'Got the lot here – another young man being fitted up just now, in fact.' 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. Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him, slipped a long robe over his head and began to pin it to the right length.
'Hullo,' said the boy, and Harry looked over immediately. 'Hogwarts too?'
'Aye,' he replied.
'My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands,' said the blonde. He had a bored drawling voice, drenched in privilege. Harry knew that he was an important person to make friends with immediately, and tucked that information away for later. '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 my father into getting me on and I'll smuggle it in somehow.' He smiled politely, humouring him as he went on. 'Have you got your own broom?'
'No.'
'Play Quidditch at all?'

'Mother wouldn't let me,' he replied, and it was true. Lady Magic much preferred it when the boy had both feet planted firmly on the ground, besides, he didn't have anywhere to play, the Dursley's small but manicured garden was hardly a discrete place to play. Instead, he listened to the wireless, Puddlemere United Vs Chudley Cannons, Appleby Arrows vs Falmouth Falcons.
'Well I do- 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?'
'More than likely Ravenclaw,' Harry reasoned, his love for books at the forefront of literally everything he did. 'But my parents were Gryffindors.'
'Well, no one really knows until they get there do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family has been- imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?'
'There have been some great witches and wizards from Hufflepuff you know.' The blonde boy made a face at this, clearly, Harry had said the wrong thing.
'Have there really?'
'What about Newt Scamander?' He could almost hear the gears turning in the other boys head, and slowly but surely he started nodding.
'I suppose you're right about that. My names Draco, Draco Malfoy.' He stuck out his hand, expecting a handshake. Madam Malkin dug a pin in and he retracted it rather quickly. Harry hid his amusement at this.
'Harry. Harry Potter.'
'That's you all done my dear, we'll owl you the finished items.' Harry nodded and stepped off the stool, glad he could leave as to not be confronted with the no doubt open-mouthed gaping the blonde boy- Draco- was doing behind him.

'See you at Hogwarts I suppose,' the boy called out, and Harry nodded distractedly, pulling his list out of his trouser pocket. Next? A wand.
A wand indeed. This was what Harry had really been looking forward to.

The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382BC. 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. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single spindly chair which Harry didn't sit on for fear it wouldn't support his weight. Harry had strangely as though he had entered very strict library; he swallowed a lot of new questions that had just occurred to him and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxed 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, almost, but not quite like his mother.