The moment Harry stepped out of Ollivanders, the wand still heavy in his hand, a strange sensation washed over him. It wasn't just the weight of the wand itself—it was something deeper. The air around him felt charged with potential, like the world was holding its breath, waiting for him to make the next move. He could feel the magic within him, thrumming faintly in his veins, pulling him toward the unknown.
Hagrid, now carrying a large stack of packages, clapped Harry on the shoulder with a booming laugh. "Well, Harry, I reckon that's the last stop, eh? Ready for Hogwarts?"
Harry nodded slowly, but his mind was still reeling from the encounter with Ollivander. The wand—his wand—felt both alien and familiar, as though it had been waiting for him all along. But the words the wandmaker had said still echoed in his mind: "The magic it channels is not light or pure—it has been touched by darkness."
It was a thought that clung to him, like a shadow at the edge of his consciousness. He wasn't sure what it meant, but he knew one thing for certain—it was connected to him. And that made him feel, for the first time, truly different from the other children.
"Let's go get somethin' to eat," Hagrid suggested, his voice cheerful, unaware of Harry's inner turmoil. "You've done well today. I reckon you're ready for some grub."
Harry was grateful for the distraction. As they walked down the crowded cobbled street of Diagon Alley, the bustling sounds of the magical world felt more alive than ever before. Everywhere Harry looked, there was something new and wondrous to see—witches and wizards haggling over enchanted objects, owls swooping overhead, shopkeepers shouting their wares. He could see why his parents had been so excited by it all. Magic was alive here.
They made their way to a small café tucked between two larger shops. The place smelled of freshly baked bread and hearty stews, and the moment Harry stepped inside, the warmth and comfort of the place wrapped around him like a blanket.
"Sit yourself down," Hagrid said, pulling out a chair and placing the pile of packages beside him. "I'll grab us some food."
Harry nodded, sinking into the chair and taking a deep breath. It was strange, sitting here, in a café, among people who seemed so at ease with the world around them. He felt like he didn't belong, like he was still an outsider looking in. But as he glanced around, he saw the same look of wonder in the eyes of the other children. They were all new to this world, just like him.
Hagrid returned a moment later with a tray laden with sandwiches, cakes, and large mugs of warm, frothy butterbeer. The steam rising from the mugs felt soothing, and Harry felt his nerves settle slightly.
"So, you're all set for Hogwarts now," Hagrid said, a twinkle in his eye. "The Hogwarts Express will take you up to the castle, and once you're there, you'll start your first year. You'll meet the other students, get sorted into your house, and begin your studies."
Harry nodded, trying to picture it all. It sounded so different from the life he had known—so far removed from the cupboard under the stairs, from the constant fear of the Dursleys, from the dark and oppressive silence of Privet Drive. Hogwarts was a world unto itself, a place where magic was real and things like flying brooms, talking hats, and strange creatures existed. It was everything he'd never known and everything he had always hoped for.
As they ate, Hagrid continued to chat about the wonders of the wizarding world, telling Harry stories about the school, the professors, and the various magical creatures that roamed the grounds. But despite Hagrid's jovial tone, Harry couldn't shake the feeling of unease. The words Ollivander had said still haunted him.
"It has been touched by darkness."
What did that mean? Why did Harry feel so connected to the wand in a way he couldn't explain? And what was the significance of the phoenix feather in the wand's core? Was it a coincidence that his wand came from a creature tied to such a complicated history? Or was it something more?
"Oi, Harry! You alright, mate?" Hagrid's voice broke through his thoughts. Harry blinked, realizing he'd been staring at his wand, his fingers wrapped tightly around its smooth surface.
"Yeah," Harry said quickly, forcing a smile. "Just thinking."
Hagrid raised an eyebrow but didn't press. Instead, he took a long swig of his butterbeer and leaned back in his chair. "It's a lot to take in, I reckon. First time out in the magical world, getting your wand, all that. But don't you worry, Harry. Hogwarts will sort you out."
Harry nodded, but his mind was still elsewhere. Hagrid seemed to sense the change in him, but he didn't mention it again. Instead, he stood up and stretched, gathering the packages.
"Right, let's get going. I know you're anxious to get to the train station, and you've got a few more things to do before you leave."
Harry nodded again, slipping the wand carefully into his pocket. As he stood up and followed Hagrid out of the café, a sense of purpose began to stir inside him. The path ahead wasn't clear, but for the first time, Harry felt like he was finally heading somewhere—toward a place where he could be himself, a place where the magic inside him might finally make sense.
As they walked back toward the entrance of Diagon Alley, Hagrid's booming voice filled the air again, but Harry's thoughts were elsewhere. The darkness Ollivander had spoken of—was it something he could control? Or would it control him? Only time would tell. But Harry knew one thing for certain: his life was about to change in ways he couldn't yet understand, and there was no turning back.