Ch 5. continue of 5th chapter

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.

"Hello," said the boy, "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street

looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then

I'm going to drag them off to took at racing brooms. I don't see why

first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting

me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

Harry was strongly reminded of Dudley.

"Have you got your own broom?" the boy went on.

"No," said Harry.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," Harry said again, wondering what on earth Quidditch could be.

"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?"

"No," said Harry, feeling more stupid by the minute.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know

I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been -- imagine being in

Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?" "Mmm," said Harry, wishing

he could say something a bit more interesting.

"I say, look at that man!" said the boy suddenly, nodding toward the

front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Harry and pointing

at two large ice creams to show he couldn't come in.

"That's Hagrid," said Harry, pleased to know something the boy didn't.

"He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh," said the boy, "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't

he?"

"He's the gamekeeper," said Harry. He was liking the boy less and less

every second.

"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of savage -- lives in a hut on the

school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic,

and ends up setting fire to his bed."

"I think he's brilliant," said Harry coldly.

"Do you?" said the boy, with a slight sneer. "Why is he with you? Where

are your parents?"

"They're dead," said Harry shortly. He didn't feel much like going into

the matter with this boy.

"Oh, sorry," said the other,. not sounding sorry at all. "But they were

our kind, weren't they?"

"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean."

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're

just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some

of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter,

imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families.

What's your surname, anyway?"

But before Harry could answer, Madam Malkin said, "That's you done, my

dear," and Harry, not sorry for an excuse to stop talking to the boy,

hopped down from the footstool.

"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," said the drawling boy.Harry was rather quiet as he ate the ice cream Hagrid had bought him

(chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts).

"What's up?" said Hagrid.

"Nothing," Harry lied. They stopped to buy parchment and quills. Harry

cheered up a bit when he found a bottle of ink that changed color as you

wrote. When they had left the shop, he said, "Hagrid, what's Quidditch?"

"Blimey, Harry, I keep forgettin' how little yeh know -- not knowin'

about Quidditch!"

"Don't make me feel worse," said Harry. He told Hagrid about the pate

boy in Madam Malkin's.

"--and he said people from Muggle families shouldn't even be allowed

in."

"Yer not from a Muggle family. If he'd known who yeh were -- he's grown

up knowin' yer name if his parents are wizardin' folk. You saw what

everyone in the Leaky Cauldron was like when they saw yeh. Anyway, what

does he know about it, some o' the best I ever saw were the only ones

with magic in 'em in a long line 0' Muggles -- look at yer mum! Look

what she had fer a sister!"

"So what is Quidditch?"

"It's our sport. Wizard sport. It's like -- like soccer in the Muggle

world -- everyone follows Quidditch -- played up in the air on

broomsticks and there's four balls -- sorta hard ter explain the rules."

"And what are Slytherin and Hufflepuff?"

"School houses. There's four. Everyone says Hufflepuff are a lot o'

duffers, but --"

"I bet I'm in Hufflepuff" said Harry gloomily.

"Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin," said Hagrid darkly. "There's not a

single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin.

You-Know-Who was one."

"Vol-, sorry - You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?"

"Years an' years ago," said Hagrid.

They bought Harry's school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts

where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as

paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in

covers of silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with

nothing in them at all. Even Dudley, who never read anything, would have

been wild to get his hands on some of these. Hagrid almost had to drag

Harry away from Curses and Countercurses (Bewitch Your Friends and

Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs,

Tongue- Tying and Much, Much More) by Professor Vindictus Viridian.

"I was trying to find out how to curse Dudley."

"I'm not sayin' that's not a good idea, but yer not ter use magic in the

Muggle world except in very special circumstances," said Hagrid. "An'

anyway, yeh couldn' work any of them curses yet, yeh'll need a lot more

study before yeh get ter that level."

Hagrid wouldn't let Harry buy a solid gold cauldron, either ("It says

pewter on yer list"), but they got a nice set of scales for weighing

potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope. Then they visited

the Apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible

smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy stuff

stood on the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined

the walls; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung

from the ceiling. While Hagrid asked the man behind the counter for a

supply of some basic potion ingredients for Harry, Harry himself

examined silver unicorn horns at twenty-one Galleons each and minuscule,

glittery-black beetle eyes (five Knuts a scoop).

Outside the Apothecary, Hagrid checked Harry's list again.

"Just yer wand left - A yeah, an' I still haven't got yeh a birthday

present."

Harry felt himself go red.

"You don't have to --"

"I know I don't have to. Tell yeh what, I'll get yer animal. Not a toad,

toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh'd be laughed at - an' I don'

like cats, they make me sneeze. I'll get yer an owl. All the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer mail an' everythin'."

Twenty minutes later, they left Eeylops Owl Emporium, which had been

dark and full of rustling and flickering, jewel-bright eyes. Harry now

carried a large cage that held a beautiful snowy owl, fast asleep with

her head under her wing. He couldn't stop stammering his thanks,

sounding just like Professor Quirrell.

"Don' mention it," said Hagrid gruffly. "Don' expect you've had a lotta

presents from them Dursleys. Just Ollivanders left now - only place fer

wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand."

A magic wand... this was what Harry had been really looking forward to.

The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door

read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. 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 they stepped

inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair

that Hagrid sat on to wait. Harry felt strangely as though he had

entered a very strict library; he swallowed a lot of new questions that

had just occurred to him and looked instead at the thousands of narrow

boxes 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.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Harry jumped. Hagrid must have

jumped, too, because there was a loud crunching noise and he got quickly

off the spindly chair.

An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like

moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello," said Harry awkwardly.

"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon.

Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes. It

seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten

and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm

work."

Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Harry. Harry wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy.

"Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches.

Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I

say your father favored it -- it's really the wand that chooses the

wizard, of course."

Mr. Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to

nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes.

"And that's where..."

Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry's forehead with a

long, white finger.

"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly.

"Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in

the wrong hands... well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into

the world to do...."

He shook his head and then, to Harry's relief, spotted Hagrid.

"Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again.... Oak, sixteen

inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"

"It was, sir, yes," said Hagrid.

"Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got

expelled?" said Mr. Ollivander, suddenly stern.

"Er -- yes, they did, yes," said Hagrid, shuffling his feet. "I've still

got the pieces, though," he added brightly.

"But you don't use them?" said Mr. Ollivander sharply.

"Oh, no, sit," said Hagrid quickly. Harry noticed he gripped his pink

umbrella very tightly as he spoke.

"Hmmm," said Mr. Ollivander, giving Hagrid a piercing look. "Well, now

-- Mr. Potter. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver

markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"Er -- well, I'm right-handed," said Harry.

"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Harry from shoulder to

finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round

his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of

a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix

tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands

are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite

the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with

another wizard's wand."

Harry suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring

between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was

flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on

the floor. "Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon

heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. just take it and give it a

wave."

Harry took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Mr.

Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try --"

Harry tried -- but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was

snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.

"No, no -here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy.

Go on, go on, try it out."

Harry tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting

for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the

spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the

shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here

somewhere -- I wonder, now - - yes, why not -- unusual combination --

holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

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