Having said his goodbyes to Hermione, her phone number tucked inside one of the smaller pockets of his haversack on a scrap of parchment and his own purchases carefully placed inside the large pocket, Harry exited Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions to find himself once again in the presence of Rubeus Hagrid, who quickly pushed a large cage holding a snowy owl into the boy's hands.
"A birthday present," the big man announced proudly. "All the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer mail an' everythin'."
Harry started to reprimand the Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts for getting him a "gift" that would lay upon him even more responsibilities than he already had and would likely be hated by those he lived with, who would no doubt consider an owl a "freakish" pet, but thought better of it; after the emotional roller coaster the big man had been on since the probable physical roller coaster that was the Gringotts mine cart, he very clearly needed a win.
"Thank you, Hagrid," said the raven-haired boy.
"Don' mention it," said the big man, who continued on, but Harry had tuned him out; he was already on his way to the shop that sold wands, and the faster he could get away from the lunk with limited emotional self-control, he happier he would be.
Ollivanders: Maker of Fine Wand since 382 B.C. did not appear to be the cleanest or safest of stores, but the big lunk had insisted it was the only place for wands.
From far in the back of the shop, a bell plinked as they stepped inside. Warily, Harry looked around the dusty interior, eying the boxes filling the shelves lining the walls of the shop; likely inside one of those would be a wand he would be calling his own. Meanwhile, Hagrid plopped himself down onto the only piece of furniture in the room, a frail-looking chair that groaned under the gigantic man's weight.
"Good afternoon."
Instinctively, Harry's head jerked in the direction of the voice, and for a moment, he felt a sharp pain in his neck, like he had given himself whiplash, and his hand instantly went to massage it while he eyed the old man who had appeared before him.
"I wondered when I'd be seeing you, Mister Potter," said the old man with unkempt grey hair.
"You don't say?" said Harry flatly, but the old man was already going on about Harry mother and her wand, before getting uncomfortably close and talking about the boy's father and his wand.
Suddenly, the man reached to touch his forehead, frowning. "And that's where… But where?"
Harry jerked backwards at the unwanted touch. "It's a scar," he growled, worried the old man might well be a paedophile. "They fade with time."
The old man started rambling again, turning to Hagrid and asking about his wand, before turning back to the small boy and pulling out a tape measure. "Which is your wand arm?" he asked.
"Never used a wand before, so I don't know."
The old man cocked his head to the side quizzically, then rephrased his previous question as, "Which hand do you write with?"
"I write with my right," said Harry, smiling almost to himself at the pun.
"Hold out your arm," said the old man, and Harry complied, tuning him out as he went about his business measuring and babbling at the same time. It was only after a few moments, when the measure was measuring his nasal septum, that he realized the old man had stepped away and was gathering boxes from the shelves, and the boy slapped the tape measure to the floor, where it laid in a tangled heap.
"Right then, Mister Potter," said the old man as he handed the boy a long, thin piece of wood before describing its construction. "Give it wave."
The small boy took the wand and the old man snatched it back right straight away before handing him another one and almost immediately taking it back, along with mutters of dissatisfaction.
Handing the boy another wand, the old man said, "Try this one."
Harry tried the wand. And then another. And then some more. Quickly, the stacks of tried wands were stacking up, but whatever the old man was expecting, it wasn't happening, though every failed wand only seemed to make the man happier.
"Tricky customer, eh?" said the old man, before jabbering some more; for a moment, he stopped, as though in thought, then returned with a wand he professed to be of an unusual combination, "holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple".
Harry took the wand and waved it about while the old man looked at him expectantly, but aside from being allowed to wave the wand around a little, nothing different happened, and the old man looked almost disappointed, before taking the wand back and going off to retrieve more wands from the shelves and drawers while muttering to himself.
So, Harry tried more, and more boxes joined the stack of rejected wands, which soon grew into two stacks, then three, before one pile toppled and knocked over the other two, becoming one big heap that only seemed to grow, and though the old man had seemed to grow more delighted at the increasing number of rejected wands at first, by the time half the shelves of the store were empty with no satisfactory result, hints of frustration began to show in the way he spoke.
After what seemed like hours, all the wands on the shelves and in the drawers had been exhausted without satisfying the old man, who by this point seemed less enthused and more than a little frustrated.
"Mister Potter," he said to the boy, "You are the first wizard to have come into my shop and not have a wand choose him. It seems I will need to custom-make you a wand."
"Look, I'm only here because Hogwarts requires a wand," said the small boy in annoyance. "Personally, I don't care which wand I get, as long as I can get out of here soon."
That was all it took to set Ollivander off. "Mister Potter," snarled the old man. "It is of utmost importance a wizard have the right wand for them! The connections between wand and wizard are complex! Without the right wand, magic becomes much harder to perform!"
"Well, I've always liked a challenge," said the small boy glibly, but that only served to make the wandmaker angrier.
"Mister Potter!" shouted the old man, but Harry decided to ignore his ranting, letting his attention wander as the wandmaker fumed and raved, going on in a diatribe about the benefits of having a wand that chose the wizard and the dangers and difficulties of having a different kind of wand.
Only after the man had paused for breath did Harry look him in the eye and, as though talking to a child who had just thrown a temper tantrum, asked, "Are you finished yet? Or do I need to keep ignoring you?"
The old man sputtered in indignation, and Harry decided enough was enough. "Listen, I'm going to leave," he said. "You can either sell me one of these wands," he added, gesturing to the wands laying around the store, "or custom make one and have it shipped to Hogwarts, where it'll be waiting for me when I arrive. It makes no difference to me, but I'm not staying here for another five minutes." Then, speaking softly so the lunk couldn't make out his words, he added, "I need to get home before I break curfew, or my aunt and uncle will lock me in my cupboard without anything to eat for a couple days."
Ollivander jerked erect as though stung, his large eyes widening as his face paled at the implication he might be doing something that might endanger to the Boy-Who-Lived's health. "Seven Galleons, and I shall make a wand specially for you and have it owled to Hogwarts," said the old man, as he started to gather the boxes of rejected wands.
"I need to run," said the boy, as he counted out seven gold pieces from the Mokeskin bag dangling from his neck. "I'll leave the coins on the counter."
Stepping outside the dusty shop, Harry was joined by Hagrid, who gave him a mournful look. "Harry...," he started, but the boy stopped him.
"You've met my aunt and uncle," said the boy, as he eyed the sun, low in the afternoon sky. "If I get home late and miss curfew, can you even imagine what they'd do to me?"
Hagrid nodded, seemingly unsure what to say, so Harry took the lead on the way out of the magical shopping district that was Diagon Alley, through the wall, through the dimly-lit pub. There was no conversation to be had; Harry knew he clearly wasn't what the big lunk had expected he would be, and was likely disappointed he wasn't rescuing a small, timid child from cruelty and show him the wonders of an amazing new world.
As Harry boarded a subway train that would take him home, Hagrid pressed an envelope into his hands. "Yer ticket fer Hogwarts. First o' September, King's Cross; it's all on yer ticket."
"Thank you, Hagrid," said Harry, shouldering his haversack and giving the giant of a man a small smile as the doors closed between them.
~ooOoo~
Disembarking the tube, Harry sighed as he realized he had transfer onto a train before walking a long way to go on foot; where he needed to be was not near the railway station at all, and once again, he wondered what kind of school would employ somebody who would put a small child on a train without adult supervision and then expect them to get home from the train station without adult supervision or ensuring they could get to where they needed to go safely afterwards; it was not as though Harry had the money to hire a cab, and the trek from the station to his destination was not a short one.
With a sign, he hefted the haversack by the shoulder strap he had purchased and started to down the avenue on foot. It was not going to be a short walk to get to where he was going.
~ooOoo~
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore frowned as Rubeus Hagrid left his office after making his report about the afternoon's events, though the big man thought he was simply lamenting his experiences to the headmaster of Hogwarts. Already Harry Potter was too defiant, too cynical, too independent, too manipulative, too willful, and Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore needed Harry Potter to be meek, approval-seeking, and easy to manipulate into sacrificing himself in the name of The Greater Good.
Tiredly, the beardy man seated in the office of the headmaster of Hogwarts rubbed his temples, then had himself a lemon drop. Surely, if Potter were to become friends with the Weasleys, it would soften him and make him more open to being what he had to be for The Greater Good.
~ooOoo~
Harry Potter threw open the doors, stepping inside the foyer with his arms raised in triumph. "Apparently, I'm a wizard," he announced