I maintained silence as Professor McGonagall guided me through the dimly lit pub. Curiously enough, my mind wasn’t inundated with questions or rationalizations. Instead, I found myself merely observing, striving to portray an air of bravery and indifference. It was an automatic response honed during my teenage years, a defense mechanism against unfamiliar faces.
I watched as the Leaky Cauldron fell into an eerie silence upon the professor’s arrival. Nods of recognition came from individuals spanning various age groups. Goblins, or what appeared to be goblins, engaged in heated discussions before their attention shifted to the newcomer. Wizards with pointed heads greeted the professor with joviality, while a young man, barely in his twenties, inquired about the Hogwarts staff. A pair of teenage twin girls nervously listened to the professor’s admonishments, and a bald, old man with a slightly hunched back offered the professor a beverage, only to be declined as she explained her haste.
Experiencing a second of teleportation and witnessing a wall gradually morph into an archway was an entirely different sensation. I stood there, my eyes dazed, as a wave of euphoria washed over me, leaving not a single shred of doubt about my circumstances. I couldn’t quite articulate the emotions coursing through me at that moment. It was a heavenly feeling—an inner awakening of something grand that I had failed to consciously acknowledge.
The archway revealed a picturesque cobbled street, adorned with colorful shops that seemed to have been frozen in time, reminiscent of a bygone era. The sound of bricks shifting caught my attention, prompting me to glance back at the archway, which was now closing itself. Within a matter of seconds, one would never have guessed that it had served as a magnificent gateway to the magical world just moments ago.
The bustling streets of Diagon Alley greeted us with a vibrant display of enchantment and wonder. People hurried past, their robes swishing and their voices carrying snippets of magical conversation. An entire hidden world unknown to mankind had been unveiled before my eyes.
The professor guided me through the alleyway, exchanging nods with a few people along the way. Even with my limited exposure to the wizarding world through movies, I recognized the bustling atmosphere teeming with individuals dressed in flamboyant fashion. Children hurriedly rushed to purchase items, while some adults herded their young ones towards shops to complete their necessary acquisitions. Towers of cauldrons stood tall, peculiar contraptions gleamed in the shop windows, quills zoomed overhead, books fluttered about, mannequins dressed in antiquated garments waved and posed, and a collection of broomsticks floated within a glass display. My facade of disinterest occasionally faltered, as I was utterly enchanted by the magic unfolding all around me. Following the professor, I stepped into a shop, the clank of the bell announcing our arrival.
“In just a moment, dear— Oh, Minerva! How delightful. What a pleasant surprise to see you on the eve of the start of the new term!” a voice chimed in.
“I assure you, I had not anticipated arriving here at this hour, considering my duties at Hogwarts. Arabella, my dear, would you be so kind as to provide Mr. Kumar with a set of traditional school robes? It would be greatly appreciated if you could take his measurements beforehand and proceed with the remainder of the task while I assist Mr. Kumar in procuring his other school essentials,” Professor McGonagall replied.
“Oh, certainly. Just give me a minute,” Arabella Malkin responded, her voice filled with warmth.
Madam Malkin was engrossed in her wand-waving, attending to a young teenager. I observed as his sleeves magically adjusted to fit his arm’s length. His face flushed red, and he desperately avoided looking behind him. Two girls sat on a nearby couch, whispering and giggling. It was hard to determine their exact age, as children in Britain appeared more mature compared to their counterparts in India. If I had to guess, the girls were likely between 13 and 14 years old, while the boy couldn’t have been older than 16. They quickly greeted the professor upon her arrival, receiving a curt nod in return.
My gaze fixated on a large, ornate mirror, but it wasn’t the mirror itself that captured my attention. It was the reflection it held—a boy staring back at me. A thin boy wearing a blue shirt with white stripes, his face adorned with two small yet distinct moles, one under his eye and another beneath his chin on the right side. There was no doubt about my identity, but the trouble was that I hadn’t looked like this in a very long time—a long, long time.
“You’re all set, my dear! Please come over here and let me take your measurements,” Madam Malkin called, waving her hand towards me. I glanced over, noticing the boy whose robes were being fitted hastily collecting his packed garments and leaving the shop, still sporting a rosy blush.
After a moment of hesitation, I turned around and whispered, “I don’t have the money to buy all of this.”
“No need to worry, Mr. Kumar. Hogwarts takes care of your essential needs. Now, hurry along. We have much to do after this,” Professor McGonagall reassured me.
“Thank you,” I replied, my mind still in a daze. Madam Malkin, a short and plump woman, diligently jotted down my measurements on a parchment while a magical tape hovered around me, measuring randomly. Then, she raised her wand, and a black robe zoomed out from a room within the shop, hovering above me.
“Now, dear, raise your hands and slip them into the sleeves,” Madam Malkin instructed.
Feeling a tinge of embarrassment from the lecture, I complied and the robes slid onto my body. With a wave of her wand, Madam Malkin adjusted the oversized robe, shrinking it to a size that best suited me. She pointed her wand at various spots on the fabric, and it contorted and adjusted to my exact measurements, as if made of rubber.
“You’re done, dear! Your school set will be ready for you in just half an hour!” Madam Malkin exclaimed, waving her wand one last time. The robe gracefully removed itself from my body and zoomed out of sight, disappearing into the back room.
“I’ll see you later, Arabella,” Professor McGonagall bid farewell.
“Absolutely! I can’t wait to hear all the exciting news about your ‘star’ at our next meeting in Three Broomsticks!” I thought I detected a faint smirk in Madam Malkin’s voice.
“Bones, Midgen, I look forward to your presence at the feast tomorrow. Make sure you haven’t neglected the fundamentals of transfiguration. You’ll need a considerable degree of skill this term if you wish to achieve satisfactory grades in my class,” Professor McGonagall reminded the two girls. As I followed the professor outside, both girls seemed to grow unusually pale.
“Was that necessary?” I wondered to myself.
We didn’t make any stops at the other shops, although I couldn’t help but cast a longing glance at the second-hand book shop. However, the professor took the time to brief me on the various stores in the area and where I could find the necessary school supplies. After walking for a while, we finally arrived at a shop with a sign that read, “Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC.” The shop exuded an air of age, dustiness, and something grand, as if it were a fortress housing legendary weaponry. A pleasant hum emanated from deep within, teasing my senses. I felt a presence, something massive, towering, and all-encompassing. It seemed to pull at my senses, stretching them to infinity and beyond. My eyes remained fixed on the shop, and for a moment, I thought I glimpsed a towering light so bright that it overwhelmed my vision. Then the hum, persistent and captivating, drew my attention repeatedly. I tried to concentrate, but…
Stolen novel; please report.
“Mr. Kumar, are you alright?” the professor’s voice brought me back in an instant.
“What? Who? So-Sorry, Professor, I was lost for a second. Please forgive me,” I stammered, regaining my composure.
“It’s alright. Given the tumultuous events of the day, you can’t be blamed,” the professor reassured me.
“Thank you.”
“Now listen carefully, Mr. Kumar. You will enter this shop and acquire a wand from Mr. Ollivander. Is that clear?” she asked, to which I nodded in response.
“In the meantime, I will gather the rest of your school supplies. I expect to find you here in an hour. Stay within the confines of Mr. Ollivander’s shop and wait for my return once you have obtained your wand. I must emphasize, Mr. Kumar, that you should not wander off alone or we might not be able to find you until the next academic year,” the stern witch warned.
“Yes, Professor,” I replied, offering a grateful smile. She turned and headed toward the adjacent shop, filled with various colored liquids, some bubbling, some smoking, and the most peculiar ones seemed to sparkle with stars, as if the Milky Way were suspended within them.
“These must be potions,” I mused, my gaze fixated once again on the dusty shop of Ollivanders. This time, I didn’t hear the hum or witness the blinding light, but a peculiar sensation tugged at me. It felt as though, if I concentrated hard enough, I could perceive something beyond the limits of my five senses. With each step toward the door, anticipation and exhilaration intermingled within me, leaving me unsure of the exact emotion I was experiencing. As I pushed open the door and entered Ollivander’s, a disorienting buzz filled my senses. My head spun, but I managed to maintain my balance. Amidst the disorientation, the distant sound of a bell reached my ears. Just a few more moments, and I knew I would regain my composure.
“- a new student? First-year?” I heard an old voice coming from my right. The speaker possessed eyes unlike any I had ever seen before. While I had once glimpsed the most beautiful grey eyes in one of my distant cousins, this person’s eyes defied categorization. They were pure silver, as if woven with threads of magic. Being scrutinized by someone from what seemed like a higher realm left me unsettled.
“Curious. Ah, curious indeed,” the man introduced himself. “I am Garrick Ollivander, wandmaker since 382 BC. And who might you be, young man?”
“Ma—Kumar, Ravi Kumar, sir. I’m new to all this,” I replied, almost slipping my original name.
“Indeed you are. But you are quite unique. Curious, curious… You’re not from around here, are you, Mr. Kumar?” His question left me pondering whether he referred to the origin of my body or the essence of my soul. I chose not to respond.
“Hmmm. Ah, of course, you are here for a wand,” Ollivander continued. “Tell me, Mr. Kumar, which arm do you favor for wand work?”
I extended my right hand to him, trying to catch another glimpse of his mesmerizing silvery eyes.
“That will do. Keep your arm as it is,” he said, examining me. “A wand, Mr. Kumar, is an object through which a witch or wizard channels their magic. Every Ollivander wand has a core made of a powerful magical substance. Our wands are crafted with the finest materials—unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. It is well-known that no two Ollivander wands are quite the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are identical. Using another wizard’s wand will never yield the same results.”
Similar to Madam Malkin’s shop, a measuring tape floated around me, taking random measurements of my eyes, fingers, and even down to my foot.
“That will suffice,” Ollivander said as the tape settled on the counter. He then busied himself, shuffling around the shop in search of something.
“Yes. This is it. I’m sure. Yes, this one. Black walnut and unicorn hair. A most curious combination indeed. Twelve and three-quarters, hard. Grasp it firmly and give it a good swish,” Ollivander presented me with a deceptively simple-looking wand.
I took hold of the wand, and suddenly, everything disappeared. In its place, I witnessed an intricate and vast network of interwoven lines, concealing something immense that eluded my understanding. As abruptly as the vision appeared, I snapped back to reality, lying on the floor, still clutching the simple yet beautifully crafted wand, feeling bewildered.
“Mr. Kumar, may I ask how you are doing? In all my years of wand-making, I have never witnessed such a peculiar reaction from a wand,” Ollivander remarked. “It seems it chose you with quite the flourish.” Only then did I notice the shimmering particles and bright bursts scattered throughout the store.
“Indeed, a remarkable occurrence! To be chosen on your first attempt is a most fortunate sign. It also appears you experienced quite an unpleasant jolt,” he murmured softly, as if aware that I was still recovering from the previous vision.
Regaining my composure, I asked Ollivander to pack the wand and informed him about what the professor had mentioned.
“Wands made of Black Walnut are notoriously challenging to master, Mr. Kumar,” he trailed off. I didn’t linger in the shop; instead, I ventured outside.
Seated on the pavement in front of the shop’s entrance, I began to contemplate the whirlwind of events that had unfolded in the past hour. From being a nobody, I had suddenly become a Hogwarts student and acquired a wand. What was once merely a fantasy, a figment of someone’s imagination, had now become my reality. What had happened to me? Was I dead?
I lowered my head, resting it on my bent knees. Fatigue washed over me, and I contemplated the unknown. Before leaving the small room with the professor, I hadn’t encountered anyone who seemed familiar. The professor hadn’t sought permission from anyone to bring me here. I might be an orphan, for all I knew. Yet, the living arrangements didn’t quite add up.
Why was I here? This place didn’t seem to fit me. However, I possessed extraordinary abilities, limitless and magical, capable of accomplishing feats no one else could. But why would I strive for such things? It didn’t make sense. I didn’t crave recognition from these sheep masquerading as humans. I was content with not being at the top, away from the limelight, detached from the crowd. I had no desire to be known or acknowledged.
Yes, I have the power to start a new chapter in my life, unburdened by the responsibilities of my former self. Quietly savoring life while searching for its purpose, contemplating whether our existence was merely a random occurrence or if there was a grander design. I knew there were no gods in this boundless multiverse. But then…
A mundane life in search of meaning seemed fitting. Perhaps I should consider going back, checking on how everyone was doing. Were my parents satisfied and living well? Were my siblings happy with their families? Did ‘she’ finally settle down and marry? The latter notion seemed ludicrous. I always envisioned her later years as that of a crazy old hag, living alone with an army of cats, perpetually at odds with her neighbors.
Maybe, in an alternate reality, we both peacefully passed away in old age. And in another, we…
“Wake up, Mr. Kumar. Falling asleep here is not appropriate. Have you retrieved your wand?” I jolted as the professor reappeared. Had it already been an hour, or did she not complete the purchases? I hadn’t seen her carrying anything.
“Hello, Professor. I was chosen by a wand. I left it with Mr. Ollivander,” I informed her.
“Very well. Here, take these seven galleons. You should retrieve your wand. Hurry,” she instructed, handing me several gleaming golden galleon. Their radiance sparkled with the enchantment of centuries past. I weighed it in my hand—undeniably heavy. It pained me to part with it, but eventually I let out a sigh.
As I opened the door, Mr. Ollivander stood before me, holding my wand, neatly packed in the long violet box he had initially retrieved.
“I expect great things from you, Mr. Kumar,” he said, his words shrouded in mystery, as he handed me the wand.
“Goodbye, sir, and thank you for the wand,” I bid him farewell, wondering if he recited the same words to every wizard who obtained their wand from his shop. The professor waited outside, next to a large trunk. Whether she had it all along or someone had placed it there during my absence, I couldn’t say. I didn’t inquire, sensing that I wouldn’t receive a straight answer.
“Inside the trunk, you will find all your school supplies,” she informed me. Pausing briefly, she asked, “Is there anything you wish to discuss before we return?”
“Nothing, Professor,” I replied without much thought, still clutching the wand box in my other hand.
“Very well. Hold my hand, Mr. Kumar,” she extended her hand towards me. Observing her hand and the trunk, I attempted to lift it with one hand. Surprisingly, it effortlessly rose from the ground, yet retained its weight.
“Of course, the feather-lightening charm,” I murmured, a faint smile playing on my lips as I surveyed the bustling alley. Worried parents and excited children filled the street, while shopkeepers advertised their wares. Owls of various colors fluttered about, delivering letters and messages. Glancing at the sky, I noted the smudges of red and orange signaling the imminent sunset.
Casting a quick glance at the professor, her hand still extended, I closed my eyes. The moment our hands touched, I experienced a clear sensation. My body squeezed from all directions, hurtling through space like a bullet. And then, just as suddenly, I found myself lying on the soft grass, my back pressed firmly against it. This time, I gazed at the sky, absorbing its clarity.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the fading colors of dusk signaled the arrival of a peaceful evening. Birds chirped as they returned to their nests, heralding the dawn of tranquility. This marked the definitive end of my previous life and the beginning of a new one.
“I’ll just lie here for a little while,” I whispered to myself, surrendering to the gentle embrace of the grass.