The streets of Diagon Alley were even more vibrant than Harry had imagined. As he walked alongside Hagrid, he felt the hum of magic in the air—there was a rhythm to it, a pulse that he could almost sense, though he didn't fully understand it yet. The cobbled streets shimmered faintly beneath his feet, and the chatter of witches and wizards blended with the rustling of enchanted objects. Everywhere Harry looked, there was something new to take in—a magical creature pulling a cart, a shopkeeper levitating crates into her store, and a street performer juggling glowing orbs with a flick of his wrist.
Hagrid, his face lighting up with the thrill of the day, led Harry through the crowds, steering him toward a large, well-maintained building with a sign hanging above it: Flourish and Blotts. The bookstore had a towering, ornate door, its wood polished to a gleaming shine. The windows were filled with towering stacks of books, their spines adorned with gold lettering and intricate designs. Harry's heart skipped a beat—books were something he could understand. They were familiar, even in this strange, new world.
"Here we are," Hagrid said, his voice a little quieter now, as though the atmosphere of the place had settled him. He held the door open for Harry, and the second Harry stepped inside, he was hit with the distinct scent of old paper, ink, and leather. The shop was as large as it had looked from the outside, filled with rows and rows of shelves that seemed to stretch endlessly into the back. Overhead, the ceiling was decorated with murals of magical creatures and legendary spells, each painted in vibrant colors.
"Blimey, look at all these," Hagrid muttered, sweeping a hand around the room as he led Harry toward the section marked "First-Year Supplies."
Harry's eyes widened as he scanned the shelves. The titles on the spines were beyond anything he had ever imagined. The Standard Book of Spells by Miranda Goshawk, Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling, and A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot all caught his attention. He picked up The Standard Book of Spells—its cover was a deep purple, and as he flicked through the pages, Harry was struck by how neat and orderly the book felt. It was filled with practical, step-by-step instructions on how to perform the most basic spells. He couldn't help but feel a spark of hope—this was something he could learn. The idea of magic no longer felt completely out of his reach.
Hagrid, meanwhile, was collecting the required books off the shelves, placing them in Harry's hands with surprising care. "You'll need all of these for your classes. Some of them'll be hard, but nothing you can't handle, eh?"
Harry nodded absently, caught up in the wonder of the bookstore. Every book he touched seemed to open up new possibilities, new questions, and even more wonders. Magic was real—this world was real.
Once Hagrid had collected all the necessary books, they made their way to the counter. The shopkeeper, a short, wiry man with spectacles perched on his nose, greeted them with a smile.
"Ah, Mr. Potter! I see you've found what you need," he said, his voice light and cheery.
Harry was a bit taken aback by the familiarity. "You know my name?"
The shopkeeper chuckled. "Everyone knows your name, young man. You're quite the celebrity in these parts."
Harry felt his cheeks flush but didn't have time to dwell on it as Hagrid paid for the books. The total was a small fortune in Galleons, but Harry was too awestruck to fully process it.
After leaving Flourish and Blotts, Hagrid led Harry to Slug & Jiggers Apothecary, a small but bustling shop where the shelves were filled with jars of ingredients that seemed to pulse with magic. The scent of herbs and spices lingered in the air, sharp and tangy, and Harry could see a faint mist swirling near the corners of the room as if the place itself was enchanted. The shopkeeper, a tall and bony witch, glanced up as they entered.
"Potion ingredients, I suppose?" Hagrid asked, scanning the shelves with a discerning eye.
"That's right," the shopkeeper replied, her voice a bit colder than Harry had expected. "For a first-year, we have all the basics. Don't want to overwhelm you just yet."
Harry felt a bit overwhelmed anyway, but he followed Hagrid to a small table near the back where a list of potion ingredients was on display. Some of the ingredients made Harry's stomach turn—Bubotuber pus, Dragon liver, Unicorn horn powder—while others, like Wiggenweld potion ingredients, seemed more approachable. He could hardly imagine what each of these substances would look like in their natural state. The Bubotuber pus, for instance, was a thick, yellow liquid that seemed to bubble and hiss in its jar, while Dragon liver was a deep, dark red that gleamed in the dim light.
Hagrid, his face now serious, explained, "You'll need these for your potions class. Don't worry, I'll help ya learn how to brew 'em properly. Some of these ingredients can be tricky, but you'll get the hang of it."
As Harry watched Hagrid gather the necessary supplies, he realized just how vast this magical world was. There was so much to learn—so much he didn't know. And though the idea of learning potions felt daunting, it was also thrilling. He could already imagine himself in class, standing over a bubbling cauldron, mixing ingredients with a flick of his wand.
Once Hagrid had gathered all the ingredients, the shopkeeper led them to the counter, where Hagrid paid in Galleons, once again using his coin pouch with ease. Harry watched the exchange, realizing how much money Hagrid had been spending. The books, the ingredients, the robes—it was all adding up. He felt a twinge of concern—he wasn't sure how much of the family's wealth was available to him. But there wasn't time to ask. Hagrid quickly ushered him out of the shop, and Harry followed, trying to shake off the anxiety that was beginning to gnaw at him.
"Right, lad," Hagrid said, giving Harry a reassuring pat on the back. "Last stop before lunch—Ollivanders."
Harry's stomach flipped at the mention of the name. Ollivanders was the famous wand shop that he had heard about from everyone, but he still wasn't sure what to expect. Hagrid led him toward the narrow, ancient-looking shop at the end of the street, its windows dimly lit from within. The door creaked loudly as Hagrid pushed it open, the little bell above ringing faintly.
As they stepped inside, Harry was immediately struck by the quiet, almost eerie atmosphere. The air was thick with dust, and rows upon rows of wand boxes were stacked high, stretching up toward the ceiling. The only light came from the flickering candle sconces along the walls. Harry felt a strange chill, as though the place was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.
"Well, here we are," Hagrid said softly, his voice now hushed in the presence of the shop's mysterious aura.
Harry stepped farther into the shop, glancing at the wand boxes. He could feel the weight of the magic in the air, as if the wands themselves were watching him, waiting to choose. His heart beat a little faster in his chest. This was it. This was the moment he had been waiting for.