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Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Mid 1938, Stepney

The morning air was crisp, the early light casting long shadows through the small windows of the flat. Leonard had just finished gathering his things for school when a familiar knock echoed through the quiet. His heart quickened—he knew who it was even before he opened the door.

Miss Brandt stood on the threshold, composed and authoritative as ever. She wore her usual khaki suit pants with her blond hair neatly tied back. Leonard managed a small smile as he stepped aside to let her in.

“Good morning, Leonard,” she greeted briskly, though not unkindly.

“Morning, Miss Brandt,” Leonard replied, a hint of nervousness in his voice. “Would you like some tea?”

She shook her head with a polite smile. “Thank you, but no. We’re on a bit of a schedule today. If you’re ready, we can head out immediately.”

“I’ll just let my mother know,” he murmured, though he already knew he wouldn’t wake her. He made his way to her room, where the door was slightly ajar. Pausing in the doorway, he listened to the steady rhythm of her breathing—deep in sleep. With a quiet sigh, he closed the door gently, leaving her to rest.

Returning to the kitchen, Leonard found Beatrice seated at the table, her focus entirely on the knitting in her hands. The needles clicked together softly as she worked. Leonard briefly wondered if it was for the baby but left the question unasked. Their conversations had grown sparse, and he wasn’t sure how to bridge the growing distance between them.

Beatrice didn’t look up as Miss Brandt entered the kitchen. Her expression remained blank, as if the presence of a stranger meant nothing. Miss Brandt, in turn, offered a polite nod but didn’t attempt to engage her. The air between them was heavy with unspoken tension.

Leonard lingered for a moment, watching his sister’s hands move methodically through the motions of knitting. There was so much he wanted to say, but the words tangled in his throat.

Miss Brandt’s voice broke the silence, gently but firmly. “Leonard, if you’re ready, we should get going.”

To Leonard’s surprise, Miss Brandt didn’t lead him out onto the street. Instead, she guided him toward the cellar door below the staircase. It had been years since Leonard had any reason to go down there, and the memory of the damp, musty space was buried deep in his mind. He hesitated at the threshold, the air thick with the scent of old wood and dust, but Miss Brandt’s determined stride left him no choice but to follow.

The cellar was just as he remembered—dimly lit, with cobwebs clinging to the corners and stacks of forgotten boxes lining the walls. Miss Brandt, however, seemed unfazed. She glanced around the space, then began knocking on the walls, her knuckles rapping against the old stone as she moved from one spot to another.

Leonard watched in confusion, his earlier anxiety giving way to curiosity. What was she hoping to find down here, of all places? Just as he was about to ask, Miss Brandt stopped and nodded, her eyes gleaming with some unspoken understanding.

“Here we are,” she said, turning back to Leonard, who was more puzzled than ever.

“Here?” he echoed, unsure of what she meant. “I thought we were going to get my supplies…?”

“We are,” Miss Brandt replied with a slight smile. “But first, let me explain something. We’re going to use a method of magical transportation called Apparition. It’s a way of moving from one place to another almost instantaneously, but it can be unsettling the first time. You’ll need to hold on to me very tightly, understand?”

Leonard nodded, though the explanation did little to ease his nerves. He stepped closer, gripping her arm with a mix of trepidation and trust. The cellar seemed to close in around them, the shadows deepening as he prepared himself for whatever was about to happen.

“Ready?” Miss Brandt asked, her voice calm and steady.

Leonard swallowed hard and nodded. Before he could second-guess his decision, Miss Brandt twisted on the spot, and suddenly the world around him seemed to implode.

It felt as though he was being sucked through a narrow, suffocating tube, every inch of his body compressed into a space far too small. The pressure was immense, as if the very air had been squeezed out of his lungs, leaving him gasping for breath. His ears rang, and his vision blurred into a whirlwind of colours and shapes. The sensation was overwhelming, disorienting, and for a brief moment, Leonard feared he might pass out.

And then, just as quickly as it began, it was over.

Leonard stumbled as his feet touched solid ground, his senses reeling from the sudden shift. He blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of his surroundings. They were no longer in the dark, cramped cellar; instead, they stood in what appeared to be a completely different part of London. The air was fresher here, the buildings taller and more imposing, though Leonard couldn’t quite place where they were.

To his surprise, several people walked past them on the busy street, but none seemed to care that two people had just materialized out of thin air. Leonard tried to move, but his legs wobbled beneath him, his equilibrium completely thrown off by the experience. His vision swam, the world tilting dangerously to one side. Before he could collapse, Miss Brandt’s hand shot out, gripping his shoulder firmly. She steadied him with practiced ease, her expression calm and reassuring.

“Easy there,” she said gently. “Apparition can be a bit rough on the first try. Just take a moment to catch your breath.”

Leonard nodded weakly, grateful for her support. The nausea churning in his stomach made him glad he hadn’t eaten much—anything more, and he might have lost it right then and there. He closed his eyes, focusing on the cool air filling his lungs, willing the dizziness to pass.

After a few moments, the world began to settle around him, the nausea receding to a manageable level. He took a tentative step forward, testing his balance, and found that the ground no longer threatened to tip beneath his feet.

“Better?” Miss Brandt asked, her hand still on his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Leonard replied, his voice shaky but steadier than before. “I think so.”

“Good,” she said, finally releasing him. “Now, let’s get those supplies.”

Leonard straightened up, taking in his surroundings once more.

The walk from their Apparition point led them through a part of London that Leonard didn’t recognize. He kept close to Miss Brandt’s side, taking in the sights with wide eyes. It wasn’t long before they arrived at an old, seemingly nondescript pub nestled between a large bookshop and a record store. The sign above the door read The Leaky Cauldron, but to Leonard, it looked like just another forgotten establishment in the city.

Miss Brandt pushed open the door, and Leonard followed her inside, immediately stepping into a world that was both strange and fascinating. The interior was dimly lit, with wooden beams running across the ceiling and a bar stretching along one wall. But it wasn’t the decor that caught Leonard’s attention—it was the people.

The pub was filled with patrons dressed in all manner of odd clothing. Some wore long, flowing robes in vibrant colors, adorned with elaborate patterns. Others sported tall, pointed hats that seemed right out of a storybook. One elderly witch, exactly as Leonard had imagined from tales, sat at a corner table, her large, hooked nose dotted with warts. A raven perched on her shoulder, its dark eyes gleaming as it watched the room. When Leonard’s gaze lingered on her for a moment too long, she turned her head sharply, catching his eye. He quickly looked away.

To Leonard’s surprise, the Leaky Cauldron wasn’t just filled with adults. There were children too, some around his age, perhaps a little younger or older—it was hard to tell. Some were accompanied by their parents, who fussed over them or whispered excitedly about the school year ahead. Others, like Leonard, were guided by what seemed to be ministry officials, their stern expressions contrasting with the vivid array of outfits they wore. Leonard couldn’t help but notice that some of these officials had a better fashion sense than Miss Brandt, who seemed more practical in her choice of clothing.

Miss Brandt led Leonard to the bar, where a hunched older woman with wispy gray hair tied back in a bun was carefully polishing a set of glasses. She looked up as they approached, her small, sharp eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief beneath her wrinkled brow.

“Morning, Miss Brandt,” the woman greeted, her voice raspy but warm. “Bringing another young one into the fold, are we?”

“Good morning, Mrs. Fletcher,” Miss Brandt replied with a nod. “Yes, this is Leonard Harrington. He’ll be starting his first year at Hogwarts in September.”

Mrs. Fletcher leaned over the counter, giving Leonard a scrutinizing look, though her expression remained kind. “First time in a place like this, eh? Don’t you worry, dearie. Hogwarts is a fine school, and you’ll be in good hands there.”

Leonard offered a polite smile, feeling a little out of his depth. As he looked at Mrs. Fletcher, he couldn’t help but think of Mrs. Thompson back at the library. The resemblance, though faint, brought a pang of sadness. He realized he wouldn’t be seeing Mrs. Thompson as often now that he’d be attending Hogwarts. He made a mental note to spend more time at the library in the coming month, to soak up as much of her warmth and wisdom as he could before leaving for school.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Leonard replied, his voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside him.

Mrs. Fletcher chuckled, a dry, rattling sound that somehow managed to be comforting. “No need to be so formal, dear. You’ll find we’re all a bit more laid back here than you might be used to. Just take it all in, and you’ll be right as rain.”

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Miss Brandt led Leonard through the pub and out into a small, enclosed courtyard at the back. To Leonard, it seemed like a dead end, but before he could ask, he noticed other children and their guardians already gathering around a brick wall, their eyes wide with anticipation.

As he watched, a witch in bright pink robes tapped a specific sequence on the bricks with her wand. To Leonard’s amazement, the bricks began to shift and rearrange themselves, forming an archway that led into a bustling, cobbled street lined with shops. It was as if a gate to another world had just opened before his eyes.

Leonard’s breath caught in his throat as he stepped forward, following Miss Brandt through the archway. The street—Diagon Alley, as Miss Brandt had called it—was a riot of colour and noise. Shops of every kind lined the road, their windows displaying everything from cauldrons to spell books to strange, wriggling creatures in cages. Witches and wizards hurried past, some with armfuls of shopping, others deep in conversation. The air was filled with the sounds of laughter, haggling, and the occasional whoosh of a broomstick zooming overhead.

Leonard was so entranced by the scene that he almost didn’t notice when he stumbled slightly, his senses still reeling from the sudden influx of stimuli. Miss Brandt’s hand shot out instinctively, catching his shoulder before he could fall.

“Careful, Leonard,” she said with a small smile. “It’s a lot to take in, I know. But you’ll have plenty of time to explore.”

Leonard nodded, grateful for her steadying hand. As they moved further into the alley, he noticed other children, some wide-eyed with wonder like himself, and others who seemed less impressed, almost bored by the spectacle. One child caught his eye—a boy or perhaps a girl, it was hard to tell with the way their hair fell haphazardly across their face. Their expression was one of complete indifference, as if they had seen all this before and found it lacking.

Miss Brandt continued to walk beside Leonard, pointing out various landmarks as they passed. “That’s Ollivanders,” she said, gesturing to a narrow, old-looking shop with peeling gold letters over the door that read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. “You’ll be getting your wand there. And over there is Flourish and Blotts, where you would find all the books you’ll need for your classes.”

Leonard listened intently, trying to commit everything to memory. This world was so far removed from the bleakness of his flat in Stepney, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was meant to be here—that this place, strange and overwhelming as it was, was where he belonged.

Miss Brandt led Leonard through the bustling streets of Diagon Alley, her stride purposeful as she navigated the crowds with ease. Leonard kept close, his eyes darting from one shop to the next, trying to take in everything at once. It was overwhelming, but in the best possible way. There was so much to see, so much to learn.

“First things first,” Miss Brandt said, glancing down at him with a small smile. “We’ll skip Gringotts for now, as I’ve already brought the necessary funds. Let’s get your robes sorted. They’re essential for your time at Hogwarts.”

Leonard nodded, still absorbing the sights around him. “Where do we go for that?”

“We’ll be visiting a shop called Twist & Turn’s Second-Hand Robes,” she replied, gesturing to a small, slightly worn-looking shop nestled between a magical pet store and an apothecary. The sign above the door swung gently in the breeze, its gold lettering faded but still legible. It read: Twist & Turn’s Second-Hand Robes – Quality Wizarding Wear for All Occasions.

The shop was smaller and less grand than some of the other stores on the street, but Leonard found it comforting in its own way. The display window was filled with neatly folded robes of various sizes and colours, each with a small tag indicating their price. Miss Brandt opened the door, and a small bell chimed as they stepped inside.

The interior was cozy, with racks of robes lining the walls and a few customers browsing through them. The scent of old fabric and a hint of lavender filled the air. Leonard noticed three other boys in the shop, each accompanied by an adult, and though he didn’t start a conversation, he couldn’t help but overhear their chatter.

“Do you think it’s true?” one boy whispered to the other, his voice filled with a mix of excitement and nervousness. “That there’s a whole castle for us to live in?”

“It must be,” the other boy replied, wide-eyed. “My parents said Hogwarts is the best place in the world for wizards. But… they didn’t say anything else. It’s all so… strange.”

Leonard’s ears perked up at that. It seemed he wasn’t the only one who knew nothing of the wizarding world. The third boy, standing off to the side, didn’t say much, but he seemed just as awestruck as the others.

“Welcome to Twist & Turn’s, dear,” a voice called out, breaking Leonard’s thoughts. He turned to see the shopkeeper, a middle-aged woman with unruly red hair that stuck out in every direction and large, slightly crooked teeth that gave her a somewhat comical appearance. Despite her eccentric look, there was a warmth in her eyes that immediately put Leonard at ease.

“Here for Hogwarts robes, I take it?” she asked, eyeing Leonard up and down with a practiced glance.

“Yes, ma’am,” Leonard replied, glancing at Miss Brandt for confirmation. She gave a nod, and the shopkeeper clapped her hands together.

“Wonderful! We’ve got just the thing for you. All Hogwarts students get a proper set of robes, even if they’re second-hand.” She gestured to a back room, partially obscured by a heavy curtain. “I’ll just need to take your measurements. Won’t take but a moment.”

Leonard followed her to the back of the shop, the curtain rustling as they passed through. The room was small, with shelves lined with folded robes, hats, and various other bits of clothing. A full-length mirror stood against one wall; its surface slightly tarnished with age.

“Stand here, dear,” the shopkeeper instructed, motioning to a small platform in the centre of the room. As Leonard stepped up, he caught sight of the reflection of one of the other boys in the mirror. The boy was fidgeting nervously as the shopkeeper adjusted his robes in the next room, their voices muffled by the thick curtain.

The shopkeeper produced a tape measure from seemingly nowhere and began taking Leonard’s measurements with quick, efficient movements. As she worked, Leonard’s mind wandered back to the other boys’ conversation. It was strange to think that they were all in the same boat—unfamiliar with this world, yet about to be fully immersed in it.

“There we go,” the shopkeeper said, snapping Leonard back to the present. She smiled at him, her large teeth gleaming in the dim light. “I’ve got just the thing. Wait here for a moment.”

She disappeared into the back, leaving Leonard alone on the platform. He could still hear the murmured voices from the other side of the curtain, though the words were indistinct. After a few moments, the shopkeeper returned, holding up a set of black robes that looked well-worn but clean and in good condition.

“These should fit you perfectly,” she said, handing them to Leonard. “Go ahead and try them on. I’ll be right here if you need any adjustments.”

Leonard stepped off the platform, adjusting the robes as best he could. They felt a bit strange, but the material was warm and surprisingly comfortable. Miss Brandt gave a nod of approval as she looked him over, and Leonard felt a small swell of pride.

“These will do nicely,” she said with a satisfied smile. “We’ll take three.”

As they prepared to leave, Miss Brandt quickly picked up the other items listed on Leonard’s school supply list—a pointed hat, a pair of protective gloves, and a winter cloak. The shopkeeper moved efficiently, selecting the items from various shelves and racks, and soon enough, a small pile had accumulated on the counter.

“There we are,” the shopkeeper said with a pleased grin. “Everything a young wizard needs for his first year at Hogwarts.”

Miss Brandt reached into her bag and handed over the payment. As she did, the shopkeeper looked at Leonard with a thoughtful expression. “Would you like your name on these, dear? It’s a little touch we offer to all our students.”

Leonard glanced at Miss Brandt, who nodded in approval. “Yes, please,” he replied, curious about what she meant.

The shopkeeper smiled and pulled out her wand, giving it a quick flick. To Leonard’s amazement, golden letters began to appear, as if by magic, etched into the inside of each item of clothing. He watched in awe as his name—Leonard Harrington—appeared in elegant script on the inside of the robes, the hat, the gloves, and the cloak. The letters shimmered for a moment before settling into the fabric as if they had always been there.

Leonard stared at the sight, dumbfounded by the spectacle. It was one thing to hear about magic, but quite another to see it in action, up close and personal.

“All done,” the shopkeeper said cheerfully, tucking her wand back into her pocket. “These should serve you well.”

Miss Brandt thanked the shopkeeper, and they gathered the parcels, ready to move on to their next stop. As they exited Twist & Turn’s Second-Hand Robes, Leonard couldn’t help but run his fingers over the golden letters on his new winter cloak, still processing the magic he had just witnessed.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Next up, books,” Miss Brandt said as they walked down the bustling street, her tone brisk as they navigated the crowd. Leonard followed closely, his mind still buzzing with the excitement of what he had just experienced.

They walked in silence for a few moments, the noise of Diagon Alley swirling around them, until they reached another modest shop tucked between a potion ingredients store and a shop selling magical quills. The sign above the door read Second Pages, and the window displayed stacks of books, some with faded covers and worn spines.

Inside, the shop was quiet, with shelves crammed full of books that reached up to the ceiling. The scent of old paper filled the air, mingling with the faint smell of ink. A middle-aged man with thinning hair and round spectacles stood behind the counter, organizing a stack of parchments.

Miss Brandt approached the counter, her presence immediately drawing the man’s attention. “Good day, Mr. Craven. I believe you’ve prepared the parcel for a new Hogwarts student?”

Mr. Craven looked up, smiling warmly as he spotted Leonard. “Ah, yes! A first year, I presume?” he asked, his voice carrying a kind, grandfatherly tone.

Leonard nodded, feeling a bit more at ease in the calm atmosphere of the shop. “Yes, sir. I’m starting this September.”

“Excellent!” Mr. Craven said, his smile widening. He reached beneath the counter and produced a large, neatly wrapped parcel. “All the required books, as per the Hogwarts list. And since you’re just starting out…” He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a small tin, opening it to reveal an assortment of brightly coloured sweets. “Here, have one of these.”

Leonard hesitated for a moment, glancing at Miss Brandt, who gave a small nod of encouragement. He picked a bright red sweet and popped it into his mouth. Almost immediately, it exploded with flavour—first a burst of strawberry, then a tangy lemon, and finally a crisp, refreshing apple. Leonard’s eyes widened in surprise, and Mr. Craven chuckled.

“Like it, eh? A little something to sweeten the start of your magical journey.”

Leonard smiled, the flavours still dancing on his tongue. “Thank you, sir. It’s wonderful.”

Miss Brandt paid for the parcel, and as Leonard glanced at the package, he noticed some of the titles written on the box: The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk and A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot. He was about to read further when Miss Brandt gently interrupted his thoughts.

“Next on our list,” she said, “are some essential school supplies. We’ll need to stop by a few more shops before we’re done.”

They exited Second Pages and continued their journey through Diagon Alley, weaving in and out of various shops as they collected the rest of Leonard’s school supplies. In one shop, they picked up a set of scales for weighing potion ingredients, and Leonard marvelled at the delicate craftsmanship of the brass instrument.

Miss Brandt explained its importance as they left the shop. “You’ll need these for your Potions class. Precise measurements are crucial, so take good care of them.”

Next, they visited a shop specializing in cauldrons. The shelves were lined with cauldrons of every size and material, but Miss Brandt quickly selected a sturdy pewter one, perfect for a first-year student. As they moved through the store, Leonard couldn’t help but overhear a conversation between a shop assistant and another customer about the merits of a self-stirring cauldron, which Leonard found fascinating.

Their final stop was to pick up parchment, quills, and ink. Leonard was struck by the variety of quills available—some were simple and practical, while others were long, colourful, and extravagant. Miss Brandt helped him choose a basic black quill that would be easy to write with, along with a bottle of ink that shimmered slightly in the light.

As they finished their shopping, Miss Brandt reviewed the list from Leonard’s acceptance letter. “That should cover everything, except for your wand, which we’ll get next. Are you ready?”

Leonard nodded, feeling the weight of the parcels in his arms and the even heavier weight of the reality settling in. Miss Brandt guided Leonard through the bustling crowds of Diagon Alley until they reached a narrow, ancient-looking shop nestled between two larger buildings. The sign above the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. Leonard stopped in his tracks, staring at the shop’s weathered facade. The building looked like it had been standing for centuries, its wooden beams darkened with age, and its windows clouded with dust.

Leonard felt a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling up inside him as he stared at the shop. Miss Brandt noticed his hesitation and offered him a reassuring smile. “Take your time, Leonard. This is an important moment. I’ll wait outside.”

Leonard nodded, taking a deep breath to steady himself before pushing open the heavy wooden door. A small bell chimed as he stepped inside, and the door creaked shut behind him. The interior of the shop was dimly lit, with long, narrow shelves stretching from floor to ceiling, each filled with countless slender boxes. The air was thick with the scent of polished wood and old parchment, and the only sound was the faint creaking of the floorboards beneath his feet.

Rows upon rows of wands surrounded him, and for a moment, Leonard simply stood there, marveling at the sheer number of them. Curious, Leonard reached out and gently tugged on one of the boxes, trying to open it to see what was inside. But before he could slide it open, a stern voice cut through the silence.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the voice warned, its tone sharp. “Some of these wands can be rather… temperamental. The wrong one might not take kindly to being handled by just anyone.”

Leonard froze, unsure if the voice was being serious or jesting. He slowly turned around to see a man standing behind the counter, watching him with a pair of piercing, light-coloured eyes. The man was tall and thin, with a pale complexion and wisps of silver hair that seemed to glow in the dim light of the shop. He had a serious, almost solemn expression, and his long fingers were clasped together in front of him.

“I am Garrick Ollivander,” the man introduced himself, his voice softer now but still carrying a hint of authority. “And you must be Leonard Harrington. Come closer, please.”

Leonard blinked in surprise. He wanted to ask how Ollivander knew his name, especially when he had no idea who this man was. The question was on the tip of his tongue, but before he could voice it, Ollivander spoke again.

“The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Harrington,” Ollivander said quietly, cutting through Leonard’s curiosity. “Though it is not always clear why. Let us find out which wand will choose you.”

Ollivander turned and began to pull boxes from the shelves, stacking them on the counter in front of Leonard. He opened the first box and presented the wand inside—a slender piece of wood that looked almost fragile.

“Try this one. Holly, ten inches, with a dragon heartstring core. Give it a wave.”

Leonard took the wand carefully, feeling the smooth wood beneath his fingers. It was lighter than he expected. He gave it a gentle wave, but the moment he did, the tip of the wand sparked, and a nearby stack of papers suddenly caught fire. Leonard yelped in surprise, dropping the wand as Ollivander quickly extinguished the flames with a flick of his own wand.

“Not that one, I think,” Ollivander murmured, placing the wand back in its box. “Let’s try another.”

He pulled out another wand, this one darker in colour and slightly shorter. “Yew, nine and a half inches, with a phoenix feather core. Perhaps this one will suit you better.”

Leonard took the wand, but as soon as he did, he felt a sharp, stabbing pain shoot up his arm. He immediately dropped the wand, clutching his hand in pain.

Ollivander raised an eyebrow, his expression inscrutable. “No, definitely not. That reaction is most unusual.” He placed the wand back in its box and reached for another.

“Let’s try this one—Beechwood, twelve inches, with a unicorn hair core. A very dependable wand.”

Leonard took the wand cautiously, half expecting something terrible to happen. But this time, as he waved the wand, there was a sudden whooshing sound, and several other wands on the nearby shelf shot out of their boxes, flying around the room like startled birds. Leonard ducked, avoiding one that zipped past his head before crashing into the wall.

Ollivander sighed, though there was a hint of a smile on his lips. “No, not quite right either. But we’re getting closer.”

The wandmaker turned and selected another wand, this one stored in a simple, unadorned box. He opened it with deliberate care, revealing a wand that seemed to hum with quiet power. The wood was dark and smooth, almost sleek, with an elegant, slightly twisted grain that caught the light in a subtle way.

“Try this—Hawthorn, eleven inches, with a dragon heartstring core,” Ollivander said, his voice carrying a note of reverence. He held the wand out to Leonard but didn’t release it just yet. “This is a wand that embodies both light and darkness. It is a loyal companion, but not one to be taken lightly. Hard to master, it requires both strength and resilience. A paradox, if you will.”

Leonard hesitated, looking at the wand with a mixture of fear and curiosity. He took it into his hand, and as soon as his fingers closed around the wood, he felt a warmth spread through him—a comforting, steady warmth that seemed to resonate with something deep inside him.

He gave the wand a tentative wave, and this time, instead of chaos, a soft light glowed from the tip. It was gentle, almost soothing, and Leonard felt a strange sense of relief wash over him.

Ollivander’s piercing eyes met Leonard’s, and there was something in his gaze—an intensity that made Leonard’s pulse quicken. “Ah, yes. That’s the one. Hawthorn and dragon heartstring—a powerful combination. It seems you have found your match, Mr. Harrington.”

Leonard stared at the wand in his hand, hardly believing that it had chosen him. The warmth lingered, a reminder that he had finally found his place in this strange new world.

Ollivander carefully boxed the wand and handed it to Leonard, his stern expression softening. “Take good care of it, and it will serve you well.”

Leonard nodded, still feeling the lingering warmth of the wand. “Thank you, Mr. Ollivander,” he said quietly, tucking the box under his arm.

“Good luck at Hogwarts, Mr. Harrington,” Ollivander said as Leonard turned to leave. “You’ll need it.”

Leonard stepped out of the shop, finding Miss Brandt waiting for him just outside. She looked down at the box in his hands and smiled. “Did you find the one?”

Leonard nodded, still a little dazed from the experience. “Yes, I did.”

“Good,” Miss Brandt replied, leading him back onto the street. “There’s nothing quite like your first wand.”

As Leonard and Miss Brandt left Ollivanders, the weight of the wand box in his hand brought a lingering warmth, a reminder of the powerful connection he had just made. He was still trying to process the experience when something—or rather, someone—caught his eye.

Standing just outside a nearby shop, not far from where they were, was a girl about his age with striking raven-black hair that cascaded down her shoulders in soft, elegant waves. Her deep green eyes scanned the alley with a sharp intelligence that seemed to miss nothing. Next to her stood a woman, tall and graceful, wearing an intricately stitched green robe that looked both elaborate and expensive, even to Leonard’s untrained eye. The robe shimmered faintly in the sunlight, the patterns woven into the fabric shifting ever so slightly, giving it an almost ethereal quality. The woman’s pale, porcelain-like skin and poised demeanor immediately made her stand out among the bustling crowds of Diagon Alley.

Leonard found himself staring, more out of curiosity than anything else. He had never seen anyone quite like the girl, and there was something about her that made it hard to look away. But it was the woman—her mother, he presumed—who truly caught his attention. She was beautiful in a way that was almost otherworldly, but there was a coldness in her gaze, a sharpness that made Leonard uneasy.

As if sensing his eyes on her, the woman turned her head slightly, her piercing green eyes locking onto Leonard. He froze under her gaze, and for a moment, he saw something in her expression that made his stomach drop—revulsion, pure and unfiltered. She didn’t bother to hide it, her lips curling into a faint sneer as she looked him up and down, as if he were something unpleasant, she had accidentally stepped in.

The satisfaction Leonard had felt just moments ago, after finally finding his wand, was immediately hampered by the woman’s disdain. He quickly averted his eyes, feeling a mix of embarrassment and confusion.

Miss Brandt, who had been walking a step ahead, noticed the interaction. She glanced back at the woman and the girl, then leaned slightly closer to Leonard as they continued down the street.

“Don’t let it bother you,” Miss Brandt said quietly, though there was a hint of distaste in her tone. “That’s Evangeline Greengrass Rosier and her daughter, Violetta. The Rosiers and Greengrasses are what you might consider High Nobility in the wizarding world—ancient pure-blood families.”

Leonard still felt the sting of the woman’s gaze, but now there was confusion mixed in with it. “Why should I keep away from them?” he asked.

Miss Brandt hesitated for a moment before continuing, lowering her voice. “They don’t think highly of anyone who… isn’t a pure-” she began, almost saying the words outright before catching herself. “Or rather, anyone who doesn’t fit their ideals.”

She glanced back at the woman and her daughter, who were still nearby. “If you can help it, keep away from all Slytherins, especially the Greengrass and Rosier families. It’s better that way.”

Leonard wanted to ask what a Slytherin was, and why he should keep away from these families—or houses, whatever they were—but before he could, he noticed the woman herself, Evangeline Rosier, beginning to walk toward them. Her movements were graceful, almost like she was gliding across the cobblestones, but there was a coldness in her demeanour that made Leonard’s skin prickle with unease.

As Evangeline Rosier approached, Leonard noticed the way Miss Brandt seemed to stiffen, her usual calm faltering just slightly. There was an undercurrent of tension that made the air around them feel heavier.

“Oh my, isn’t this flat Brandt, Eleanora?” Evangeline Rosier’s voice was smooth, dripping with a kind of sweetness that was clearly laced with venom. Her gaze briefly dipped to Miss Brandt’s chest; a deliberate gesture that made Leonard’s eyes widen in shock. He had initially thought the insult meant Miss Brandt was boring or dull, but this—this was something else entirely. He was visibly taken aback, struggling to reconcile how someone who was supposedly the cream of the crop in the wizarding world could stoop to such crude and petty insults.

He couldn’t believe that this was the aristocracy, the people other wizards looked up to. If this was what high nobility entailed, he was deeply disappointed. While his parents—may his father rest in peace—weren’t the most fervent crown loyalists, Leonard had always appreciated how King George VI had risen to the occasion, doing his best after his brother had left half the world laughing at them. In these crucial times, it seemed even more important to have a steady hand on the throne. Perhaps it was for the best that his brother had abdicated, especially with the rumours of his friendship with Hitler, though Leonard wasn’t sure about the details. It all seemed so distant.

His thoughts were abruptly cut off by Evangeline’s next remark, her words slicing through his reverie like a cold wind. “And who might this be? A charity case, perhaps? A lost soul in need of saving? How noble of you, Eleanora. Though I suppose even the dirt doesn’t take itself out, does it? Yet here we are, paying for the less fortunate.”

The only thing Leonard could think was that this woman was unhinged. Who was it again that said insults were like presents—either you accept them, or you don’t? Was it Gandhi or the Dalai Lama? He couldn’t quite remember. Either way, he decided that this particular "present" wasn’t worth accepting. He stopped paying the woman any attention, choosing instead to turn around and observe the other people walking in Diagon Alley.

Just then, he saw a boy walking out of Ollivanders, a small box clutched in his hands. The boy was smiling widely, his eyes alight with excitement. Leonard watched as the boy’s father ruffled his hair affectionately, and the boy proudly said something to him, though Leonard was too far away to catch the words. The sight stirred a brief thought of his own father, but he quickly pushed it back, not wanting to dwell on it now.

Evangeline continued her sharp remarks, her voice cutting through the air like a cold wind. Leonard barely registered them, his thoughts elsewhere. Was this really worth it? This woman went out of her way to prattle on, spewing venom when she could have been doing something more pleasant—like getting an ice cream, for instance. That reminded him: he’d have to ask Miss Brandt again if he could try one, the kind with the cart that had moving pictures of fruits exploding.

Out of the corner of his eye, Leonard noticed that Evangeline's face had turned a visible shade of red, her final words dripping with contempt. “So, he’s deaf and stupid. The riffraff that’s joining Hogwarts each year is truly getting worse. What a waste and what a pity.”

Leonard glanced up at Miss Brandt. The cruel remarks had clearly taken their toll on her, more than they had on him. He could see the way her knuckles had turned white, gripping the parcel tightly, but she didn’t dare say anything in response. The tension was palpable, but Leonard admired her restraint.

Just as the tension seemed to reach its peak, Violetta Rosier intervened, her voice calm but firm. “Mother, I want to go to Sugarplum’s Sweets.”

The unhinged woman paused; her sneer still etched on her face. She glanced at Leonard one last time, her gaze cold and dismissive, before turning to her daughter. “Very well, Violetta.” With that, she gave Miss Brandt a final, disdainful look before striding off, her daughter following closely behind.

As the two of them walked away, Leonard couldn’t help but feel a mix of relief and incredulity. The whole exchange had been utterly ridiculous. He turned to Miss Brandt, a wry smile playing on his lips. “So, you said Violetta and I could become fast friends, right? They seem nice, especially her mother. I’ve never seen someone say so much with so little substance.”

Miss Brandt let out a small, relieved laugh, the tension in her shoulders easing a bit. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”

He tilted his head, curiosity piqued. “Why didn’t you say anything back? Why just keep quiet?”

She sighed, the smile fading slightly as she glanced at him. “The wizarding world is small, Leonard. Getting on someone’s bad side—especially someone as connected and powerful as the Rosiers—wouldn’t do me any good. It’s not about agreeing with them; it’s about choosing your battles wisely.”

Leonard frowned, trying to process what she was saying. He wanted to ask more, to understand the complexities of this new world he was about to enter, but before he could, Miss Brandt offered him a gentle smile.

“How about we end the day on a better note? There’s a cart nearby with those ice creams you mentioned—the ones with the exploding fruit pictures. My treat, as a farewell gift and a way to remember today without the unpleasantness of the Greengrass encounter.”

Leonard’s eyes lit up at the suggestion, the prospect of ice cream quickly dispelling the lingering unease. “That sounds great,” he said, the earlier tension beginning to fade away.

They made their way to the ice cream stand, where a small crowd had gathered. About a dozen people stood around, chatting and enjoying their treats, while a handful waited in line for their turn. When it was finally Leonard’s turn, he glanced up at Miss Brandt, silently asking how many scoops he could get. She smiled and held up two fingers.

Leonard eagerly chose chocolate and strawberry. The chocolate was a bit plain, its only trick being that it changed the color of his tongue with each lick. The strawberry, however, was much more fun—it alternated between watermelon and strawberry flavors, each one more refreshing than the last. As they ate, they didn’t talk much, instead quietly observing the bustling activity around them, watching people hurry along with their business in Diagon Alley.

After they finished their ice creams, Miss Brandt led Leonard to a quieter corner of Diagon Alley. She placed the bags of his newly acquired school supplies in front of her, then chanted something unintelligible to Leonard. Her necklace glowed briefly, and with a soft shimmer, the bags vanished. The only item Leonard had to carry was his wand, which he clutched happily.

With everything taken care of, they headed back to the Leaky Cauldron. Inside, they descended a staircase where Leonard noticed a small line of people waiting. Every so often, a soft pop sound echoed down the corridor, each pop bringing them closer to the door. When it was their turn, Leonard braced himself for the sensation of Apparition, only to find that it was even worse the second time around. Maybe he shouldn’t have had that ice cream, he thought, feeling his stomach lurch.

Once they arrived at their destination, Leonard took a moment to steady himself. Miss Brandt tapped her necklace twice, and the bags reappeared in front of them. Leonard watched as she reached into her coat pocket and pulled out something red—a ticket, perhaps—but after a brief moment, she tucked it back inside.

“I’ll come back on the 1st of September to pick you up,” she said, her tone firm yet kind.

Leonard nodded, agreeing without hesitation, unsure of what the alternative could even be. Before she left, he hesitantly asked, “Would you like to come upstairs?”

She declined with a grateful smile. “No, thank you, Leonard. But I’ll see you soon.”

With that, she bid him farewell and Leonard, made his way up the stairs with bags in hand to his flat, his mind swirling with the events of the day.

Nearly a week passed before Thomas finally returned. When Leonard saw him, he was struck by how much worse his brother looked. There were cuts on his face, and a bandage was still wrapped around his severed finger. But it wasn’t just the physical wounds that stood out—there was something deeper, something that had changed within him. The warmth Thomas had once shown their mother and sister was gone, replaced by a hollow emptiness. He looked tired, as if something vital had died inside him during the week he was away.

Leonard’s mind flashed back to his beating, to the words he had overheard about silencing someone. As the realization of what Thomas might have done dawned on him, his blood ran cold. Any lingering warmth he’d felt for his brother was swept away like a tidal wave, leaving only a chilling numbness in its wake. The thought of reconciling, of helping him through whatever dark path he had taken, vanished completely.

Beatrice immediately tended to his wounds. There was some conversation, but Leonard paid little attention to it. Instead, he buried himself in the books he had brought home, spending every spare moment after school absorbing as much as he could before his departure for Hogwarts in September.

In mid-August, when Leonard came home from school one afternoon, he was surprised to hear laughter coming from inside the flat. Before he even opened the door, the wails of a newborn reached his ears. He hesitated for a moment, then slowly pushed the door open and walked into the kitchen.

There, in the centre of the room, was Beatrice, looking weak but with a smile on her face. She cradled a tiny baby in her arms, her eyes tired yet filled with a quiet joy. Despite being only 16, Beatrice looked much older, worn down by the hardships she had faced. But in that moment, she seemed content, if only for a brief while.

Their mother, who had barely left her bed in weeks, was also present. Though she was hunched and frail, the sight of the baby in her arms seemed to give her a renewed sense of purpose, a will to continue living that Leonard hadn’t seen in some time.

When they noticed Leonard standing in the doorway, the room visibly tensed. An awkward silence hung in the air, one that was eventually broken by Beatrice’s soft voice. “Joyce, meet your uncle,” she said, gently coaxing the baby to acknowledge Leonard.

The baby let out a small burp, then began to cry again, her tiny hands reaching out as if to be placed back into her mother’s arms. Leonard stood there, unsure of what to do, feeling a mix of emotions he couldn’t quite name. But as he watched his sister and mother tend to the newborn, he realized that, despite everything, life had a way of pushing forward, even in the darkest of times.

The next two weeks went by in a blur. Though he didn’t use a wand, he practiced with a pencil, careful not to overextend himself. The last thing he wanted was to accidentally start a fire like he had at Ollivanders. His attempts at magic were met with moderate success, but he could feel it—magic was coming more naturally to him. He refrained from using the Latin phrases obviously, focusing instead on mastering the wand movements as best as he could without proper supervision.

Meanwhile, his brother Thomas was gone for days at a time, only to return with his nerves frayed and his temper even shorter. Beatrice, despite her weakened state, had found work in a nearby factory, likely through Thomas’s connections. She rarely spoke about it, but Leonard could see the toll it was taking on her.

Two days before his departure, Leonard went to the library to see Mrs. Thompson one last time. He hadn’t visited as much as he wanted to in the past month, but she knew he was leaving for a boarding school—though he had left out the finer details about it being a school for wizards.

Mrs. Thompson greeted him warmly and ushered him into the small makeshift kitchen at the back of the library. On the table, she had prepared some sandwiches and a carefully wrapped package in newspaper. She handed it to Leonard with a soft smile.

As he unwrapped it, Leonard found a notebook inside, its cover worn but sturdy. Opening it, he discovered, empty pages and some filled with proverbs, each written in a neat, flowing script. anonymous. Leonard read one of them aloud, no name attached, only the letter “A.” “‘A gem cannot be polished without friction, nor a man perfected without trials.’”

He was overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of the gift and couldn’t help but hug Mrs. Thompson tightly. “I really like it,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you. I’ll keep it safe; I promise.”

Mrs. Thompson smiled, patting his back gently. “Take care of yourself out there.”

Leonard nodded, stepping back with a chuckle. “You take care of yourself too, and the books,” he added with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood. He immersed himself one last time in the comforting embrace of the books, the familiar smell of old paper filling his senses.