Chapter 4: Obligatory Diagon

London, Great Britain

There was a small square filled with several public fireplaces just to the side of Diagon Alley that played the same role as a bus stop or subway station in the muggle world. After all, it'd be really weird if the only entrance to the biggest magical shopping quarter in Magical Britain was through a rundown tavern. While I had no doubt that Tom loved the flow of traffic and increased business, his little tavern couldn't possibly cater to the entire magical population of the British Isles.

And still, as I stepped into my own fireplace, I tossed the ash-like powder onto the ground and enunciated clearly, "Leaky Cauldron."

The part of me that was Corbin, the man who grew up reading stories about this world, would accept nothing less. Saying those words with floo powder tightly clenched in hand meant something, just a part of my childhood dream being validated. It sent butterflies fluttering through my stomach.

That was as much joy as I got out of my first floo experience before the world shifted around me like a demented carousel. Turned out, the floo was not instant movement, not really. If anything, it was like one of those 60s sci-fi cartoons where people got shoved through chutes at super speed. I saw other people's fireplaces blur by, too fast to make out any specific details.

Then, my mind was launched out of the chute even as my body insisted we were still moving in the same direction. I saw myself faceplant onto the tavern floor, pimp cane clattering to the ground. My body convulsed as the fall triggered a new round of painful shivers.

'Precog,' I realized. I did my best to brace myself, though to little avail.

In the end, I clutched my cane with both hands and walked out with the release, doing my best to bleed off the momentum. This didn't keep me from promptly tripping over my own feet. I staggered forward two more steps before I managed to jam the cane into the tavern floor with both hands like I was staking a vampire. I drew a fair bit of attention but the patrons of the bar immediately turned back to their meals once they realized there was no entertainment to be found.

"You alright there, lad?" came the bartender's concerned question. I looked over to find Tom polishing a mug. He was an old, bald man whose age had stooped his back into a pronounced hunch. Still, he was a nice enough man by all accounts and his eyes shone with naked kindness.

Or maybe he just didn't want me losing my teeth against his floor.

"Well, I'm not having a seizure so we should be fine," I drawled back. "Sorry about making a show, can't really walk right at the moment."

He eyed the ostentatious cane with a knowing nod. "Ain't the worst I've seen. You want anything, kid?"

"Just getting my school shopping done, Tom."

"You know they have a public fireplace right around the corner?"

I shot him a disarming smile. "What can I say? Your pub's iconic. Felt like I had to start my journey here if that makes any sense."

He puffed out his chest with pride. "Well of course it's iconic. The Leaky Cauldron's been in the family for near five hundred years now. This humble pub's the divide between the wizarding and muggle worlds, you know? It ain't much, but it's an institution is what it is."

"So I've been told. Heard you got a mean shepherd's pie too, might come back for dinner. You take care, Tom. Gotta go get my wand and whatnot."

"Heh, you get on then, lad. Cutting it a little close though."

"I've been busy these past few weeks," I said with a wan smile. "Not exactly my choice either."

"You need to be let into the Alley," Tom asked. "The wall stops anyone who don't know the sequence."

"Ehh, I like puzzles. Let me try on my own first. I'll come get you if I can't figure it out."

"Suit yourself."

With a wave behind me, I stepped into the back of the tavern. Before me was the brick wall that Hagrid first showed to Harry. It looked about as mundane as any other alley, with a few trash bins in one corner. Tapping the right brick would make the wall reconfigure itself into an archway.

"Was it three up and two across or two up and three across?" I mused to myself as I stepped next to the rubbish. "I know the sequence began from the trash can…"

I could easily try both combinations but I figured it would be a decent chance to practice my divination without the ball. The ball was a tool but I didn't want it to become a crutch. I reached out and placed a hand on the brickwork. I closed my eyes and willed my magic to the surface. This in itself made me an anomaly; I doubted anyone my age could call on their magic freely without a wand.

My magic answered me, rising up like a bubbling spring. Like water, it was formless. Any attempt to grasp it with my will only saw me staring at my empty hands as it flowed through my fingers. If it wasn't for my esoteric affinities, I knew I wouldn't have been able to manage even this much. Everything save divination was far out of my grasp.

That was fine; I didn't need anything else. The magic in the wall thrummed as it sensed me. I willed my own magic into the brickwork and attempted to look at its past. My magic felt like molasses as it slowly seeped inside, a huge contrast compared to the crystal ball which had all but snapped the connection into place on its own.

I supposed that was the difference between a magical tool designed for the art and your everyday ward.

I stood with my eyes closed and hands on that wall for a solid twenty minutes. I felt my lips curl into a smile as I thought about what I must have looked like, kind of like I'd been pulled over and was waiting to be frisked by a cop. Then the distracting thought broke my concentration and I had to start again. Tom must have assumed I'd gotten in somehow because he didn't bother checking up on me.

I didn't succeed, at least not in seeing its history. Normally, I literally saw visions of what had happened, such as me seeing the cards flip over to reveal themselves in my crystal ball. Instead, though the vision of the last person who'd used this entrance eluded me, I was able to feel the way the magic flowed through the brickwork. It felt a bit like the water of a gentle creek that I'd dipped a finger into as it flowed downstream. It was slow and languid, so much so that I barely noticed the current, but it was there.

I tracked it to the center of the wall, three bricks up and two across from the rubbish bin.

"That must be the entrance then," I concluded. I reached out and tapped the brick. Sure enough, I was rewarded with the sound of grinding stone as the wall moved aside for me.

I grinned wide as the legendary locale spread out before me. It was… Well, it was honestly somewhat underwhelming, but the simple fact that this was Diagon Alley made it seem much more grandiose than it would have been.

I skipped the bank. Valencia Zabini was a paranoid bitch and though the Zabini family had an account with Gringotts that included six other folded houses, there was a not insignificant amount of money and resources that was squirreled away in different places around Europe. It made sense, when she lived her life screwing over (literally) everyone she met, it became second nature to expect the same treatment in return.

All it meant was that I lacked the key to the Zabini vault. Mother had seen fit to give me a bag of one hundred galleons and told me to knock myself out.

Parenting, thy name is not Valencia.

How much was that in pounds? I didn't have a single fucking clue because old-Blaise never frequented the muggle world. It was a lot though, enough that a less affluent family could live for a month or two on my allowance. Considering Fred and George used only a thousand galleons to start a business, purchase and develop products, and acquire retail space, perhaps that was to be expected.

"Let's see… I need a wand, uniform, books, and an owl…" I muttered to myself.

That made my decision easy. I'd never been the sort to leave the important things for last so I made a beeline for Olivander's.

I meandered through the streets, window shopping to see if there was anything not on the list worth buying. I saw the Nimbus 2000 and a few kids going goo goo over it, but it didn't strike a chord with me as I'd expected. Apparently, old-Blaise wasn't much of a flyer.

I eventually found the historic shop. It was near the southern end of the alley and looked somewhat dilapidated. The walls were covered in beige paint that had begun to flake off and there were cracks in the masonry as if caused by one too many explosions, which, considering Harry's wand choosing, wasn't out of the question.

Then again, I supposed the outer appearance of the shop meant little to a wizard, especially not one with a guaranteed clientele like Ollivander. Perhaps he saw no reason to restore the store to its undamaged state so long as the damages were merely cosmetic.

I took a deep breath and stepped into the store, the bell above the door ringing merrilly. I turned around to face the nook behind the door, Ollivander playing peekaboo was a thing, right?

Only, there was no one there.

Then a sliding ladder clanged to the floor with a deafening thump, making me jump. My hand clenched down on my cane and I only just kept down a squeak of surprise. The famed wandmaker slid down from it with dexterity belied by his age.

"Ah, Mr. Zabini, welcome to my store," the wispy old man said with a knowing smile.

"Do you enjoy surprising people?" I asked acerbically. I wasn't pouting, honest.

"When one reaches my age, one must find his own amusement."

"How did you know my name?"

"You have many questions but the answer is not as magical as you would believe. You look like young Miss Constanza did at your age. Willow and dragon heartstring, nine inches, a flexible wand for a morally flexible witch."

I scowled. It took me a moment to recognize my mother's maiden name. I should have triggered my precog before coming in, if only to turn the tables on that little prank of his. "Might be the nicest way I've heard anyone describe her."

"Yes, well, let's get started, shall we? Show me your wand arm."

I transferred the cane to my left hand and held out my right. A set of measuring tapes floated around my body, measuring everything from the space between my eyes to the width of my nostrils. "Do these things actually help or are they just here to distract customers while you work?"

He gave me another of those enigmatic smiles but ignored my question entirely. "Here, try this one. Ash and unicorn hair, very forgiving."

"That's not me," I said definitively. The CYOA had given Corbin the chance to customize a wand. Naturally, old-me had gone with the one best suited for esoteric magics, especially divination: silver lime and phoenix tail feather, ten inches. Even had I not known my exact wand, I would have had doubts about this one. Forgiveness? Me? There was a woman with her head pulped down in Portugal who'd beg to differ.

"Try anyway," he urged. "I find even the rejections to be highly informative. As my grandfather always said, it is the wand that chooses the wizard. The choice could surprise you."

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

I reached out for it and just before I could make contact with the wood, it launched from my grip and threw itself into the fireplace where it promptly burst into flames.

I stared at him flatly. "Yeah, well, your wand chose to commit suicide rather than spend a second in my hand. What's that mean?"

"That you will be a most fascinating customer."

That kicked off fifteen minutes of wand-fitting. Unfortunately for Ollivander's profit margins, the first wand wasn't the only one to commit suicide. One slammed into the brick wall and snapped itself in half. Another turned to confetti in my hand. A third literally grew a snake's head and bit itself in two.

"Perhaps unicorn hair is not right for you, young man," he hummed.

I let out a gasp of mock-horror. "Say it ain't so!"

"Your sarcasm is really not as endearing as you seem to think it is."

"Yeah, well, I ain't paying for the wands that decided to off themselves. I didn't even know they could do that."

"Truthfully, neither did I. Wands are fascinating, aren't they? Now try this one, silver birch and phoenix tail feather, eleven inches." I took it in hand. A jolt of magic raced through me and I felt my own magic rise up to respond. The tip of the wand began to glow white but before it could do more, Ollivander snatched it from my hand. "No… Close, but not quite… Phoenix feather does seem like the right core for you."

"How can you tell? I mean, yeah, it didn't explode or anything, but what are you looking for when a wand matches itself properly?" I asked curiously. "They can't all let out sparks or something, right?"

"Correct, Mr. Zabini. Wands have personalities of their own, much like people. And much like people, they show their approval in different ways."

"Okay, so what are you looking for? How do you know that a wand is the right fit?"

"Ah, you must allow an old man his secrets. Now, try this one: silver lime and phoenix feather, ten inches. I felt the silver birch was close."

I took a calming breath. This was it, my wand. I took it in hand with eager anticipation. There were no sparks or gouts of flame, no magic birds that chirped their birdsong throughout the store. In fact, there were no outward signs of a shift at all.

And yet, it felt as though my world exploded with color, as if I'd been born blind and had only now begun to see. Every hue and shade seemed more vivid, more real in a way that I could not explain. There was a thrumming in my wand, a quiet hum only I could hear whispering its welcome, promising me its secrets.

"Congratulations, Mr. Zabini, I believe that is the right wand for you."

I scowled at him. "How'd you know? There weren't any signs at all this time."

"From the wand, Mr. Zabini, from the wand," he said with a knowing smile. "The look of awestruck wonder on a young man's face as he forges that connection for the first time is a sure giveaway."

"I… Yeah, fair enough. Thank you, Mr. Ollivander."

"You are welcome. You've been a most curious customer."

"How so, sir?"

"That wand is not a powerful wand, silver limes seldom are, certainly not at that length. However, it is an extraordinarily subtle wand. I suspect that it will serve a man with the right outlook on life."

I met his smiling gaze with a suspicious one of my own. There was no legilimency probe as far as I could tell. I had the sneaking suspicion that the whole thing about watching my face to see the proper match was bullshit, at least partially. Could he see magic directly? Or maybe there were wards around the shop made to scan for it? Were his glasses enchanted like Mad Eye's?

"I… Thank you, sir," I said, now thoroughly unnerved. I knew from the CYOA that this wand excelled at legilimency and divination. Question was, did he say that to suggest he knew I was a seer? Or maybe to give me a hint to study the mind arts more?

Ollivander was a man of hidden depths. Something about the man made my hackles rise. I bought myself a cleaning kit and holster and did not linger.

X

Now that I had my wand, the rest of the shopping went by quickly. Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions was a far more stylish shop on the surface than Olliivander's, with a squat, older witch dressed in a whole lot of pinkish purple manning the store. She was friendly enough but I'd never been the fashionable sort so I bought several Hogwarts uniforms and headed out. It wasn't as though Blaise didn't have normal clothes anyway.

That left me with only my books and owl to purchase.

Flourish & Blotts reminded me of Barnes & Noble, if one particular store manager was both blind and insisted on laying out his shelves according to his eight year old son's fever dream. Which was to say, absolutely nothing made sense here. I saw books on transfiguration laid out with Lockhart's "memoirs." There were guides to botanical taxonomy next to Dumbledore's famous thesis on the twelve uses of dragon blood. The whole store was a cluttered mess and the inner librarian in me wanted to find the proprietor if only so I could kick his dick into his throat.

And then there was the Girl Who Lived section. It occupied a place of prominence near the counter, which made clear to me the priorities of the owners. "Memoirs" of Violet Potter's life filled the shelf, just about the only shelf that seemed properly organized.

I was taken aback by the sheer number of volumes on display. There were titles ranging from The Girl Who Lived and the Fae Prince to The True Life and Times of Violet Potter.

Partly out of a desire to not look at the disaster zone that was the rest of the store and partly out of morbid curiosity, I picked up one of the less obviously libelous volumes. It was a leatherbound hardcover that professed to be a true record of the events of that fateful night in 1977.

And then I got to the part about little Violet rising up out of the crib to smite the Dark Lord with the anti-killing curse, whateve the fuck that was, and promptly lost all faith in the magical world.

I let out an audible groan of disappointment as I closed the tome and returned it to its rightful place. Garbage or not, books were to be treasured.

"I take it you're not here for casual reading?" came a female voice behind me. She sounded far too amused for my liking.

I turned to find an older girl, roughly sixteen or seventeen, with dusky skin and large, olive eyes. Said eyes were narrowed into an amused smirk. She wore the witch-typical robes with a nametag that marked her as an employee.

"Just here for my school books but got caught up in this nonsense. How do you find anything in here?"

"The summoning charm," she said with a sly grin. "Alicia Spinnet, you?"

"Blaise Zabini," I said as I tucked my cane under my arm so I could ask for a handshake.

There was a flash of recognition in her eyes at the name and her smile became a little more rigid. She still took my hand to not seem impolite. "Right, come on then. We keep all the school books beneath the counter for convenience. First year?"

I pretended not to notice her judging eye. I'd just have to get used to being associated with an infamous black widow. I recognized her of course, one of Gryffindor's three chasers. They got a decent amount of screen time for such irrelevant side characters purely by association with Harry's quidditch team. Old-Blaise remembered House Spinnet as a halfblood house, and therefore not really worth networking with. Nor rich or powerful, but not impoverished either. They just, were.

I was trying not to be a bigoted ass so I made some conversation. "Yup. You don't look much older than me. Working part-time?"

"Yes, well, some of us need to work for what we want."

"Hey now, no judgment. Just making conversation."

She let out a sigh. "Sorry, just… had a run in with Avery the other day."

I ran through old-Blaise's memories for someone from that house. A boy a few years my senior came to mind. "Eustace Avery?"

"Yup. Know him?"

"We move in the same circles. If it makes you feel better, he's not any more bearable when he's with 'friends.'"

"Not surprised. If you must know, mom said I should learn the value of a knut and told me to save up for my own broom this summer."

"Respectable. So, my books?"

"Yeah, I got you." She slid a set of books onto the counter. "Here's the firstie set."

I placed them into a trunk I'd brought for the purpose and shrank it before it went into my pocket. I paid her and walked back into the store. "Thanks, gonna go look for something else interesting to read."

"Sure. What's with your cane?"

"Accident. Can't walk right."

"Sorry."

"Don't worry about it," I waved, readying myself to plunge back into the jungle that was this store's bookshelves.

X

I returned half an hour later with four books under my arm. It had been an absolute ordeal trying to find anything of worth in that maze. In the end, I looked for books that were likely not in the family library, if only so I could say I'd added to it. I placed them in a stack on the counter.

"Ring these up for me, please."

"Sure, Zabini." Alicia saw the book on top and rolled her eyes. "The Tales of Beedle the Bard? You don't strike me as the sort to collect children's books."

I shrugged helplessly. "What can I say? It's a classic."

"Mhmm, let's see… Zonko's Pranks and Practical Jokes, some old edition of Hogwarts: A History, and Enchanting Enchantments for the Novice Enchanter… Wow, your reading choices are all over the place."

"I mean… yes? Aren't these interesting? Zonko's is Zonko's, but Enchanting sounds like a foundational text for say, how to make your own broom."

"I guess, so why the children's book and the history doorstop?"

"They're classics. How can I not buy them?" I repeated.

"Right, to Ravenclaw with you then. That'll be nine galleons and six sickles."

"Slytherin, actually," I told her as I dropped the cash into her hand. "I'm willing to bet anything I'll end up a Slytherin."

"Oh? And here I thought you were starting to look respectable," Alicia snarked, her lips curling up a little in jest.

"Ravenclaw is fine, but well… my ambition is bigger than my love of knowledge."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

I swiped the books into my trunk and began to walk away. I wanted to be a man who wasn't bound by Fate, who held all the magical knowledge that existed or would exist in the world. If that wasn't an impossible dream, I didn't know what was. "Don't mind it. Nice talking to you, Spinnet."

X

I walked away from that encounter feeling resigned to the prejudice I'd be facing. If this were a game, I'd be starting every social interaction with a malus simply for being my mother's son. And, the worst part of it all was that I couldn't blame them. Sure, I was my own person, but children were products of their environment and until I could prove that I wasn't on track to become another opportunistic murderer, I could assume everyone would keep me at a distance. Spinnet was at least polite-ish about it.

I stopped at my final destination, the Magical Menagerie. I could smell the shop before I even entered. The pungent scent of animal droppings, feed, and musty cages struck me like a physical force as I entered the store.

The interior of the store was so crowded that there was barely any room to walk. Cages upon cages were stacked from floor to ceiling,each filled with all manner of creatures. There was such a large variety that even Blaise's memories were not enough to identify them all, not that Blaise was particularly interested in magizoology.

I didn't bother using my cane and simply leaned against the wall of cages as I moved forward.

"Hello, welcome to Magical Menagerie. How may I help you?" came the call of the shopkeeper. She was a portly lady with only one exposed eye; the other was covered with thick bandages. I must have been caught staring because she let out a rueful chuckle and pointed to a large glass tank in the corner. "Sorry, dearie, I must look quite the sight. Streelers, you understand."

I walked up to her and looked over to the tank to find the biggest snails I'd ever seen. Each shell seemed to be at least six inches in diameter with their slimy bodies ranging from eight to seventeen inches. As I watched, some of their shells began to change color, from orange to blue, blue to neon yellow.

"No problem, ma'am. Sorry for staring. Umm… What are they?"

"Streelers, they're a type of magic snail, see? Their slime trail is poisonous and they've got little venom sacs underneath their shell with a needle to inject it. Got a bit in my eye while moving them around the shop the other day."

"I see… Will you be alright?"

"Oh, thanks for asking. Yes, the streeler venom isn't too dangerous. Healers at Mungo's said my eye'll regain sight in a week or two," she said with a chipper grin.

I nodded slowly. I wasn't sure how she managed to get snail slime into her eye but decided not to question it. "Glad to hear it. I'm looking for an owl…"

"Say no more! Knew you had that firstie smell on you." She took me by the hand and began to drag me along. She was surprisingly gentle, having noticed the way I was bracing against the cages and my cane. "Come this way, let me show you all the birds we've got."

And it was truly an impressive collection. The shop was much larger inside than it appeared at first glance, which should not have been surprising in hindsight. There were several shelves stocked with nothing but Hogwarts-approved animals. The owls especially got the most room, enough to hop around a bit and stretch their wings. I noticed that several large cages housed up to eight or nine owls while smaller cages only housed one or two.

I didn't even bother looking at the toads or kneazles. Owls were symbols of wisdom, and more importantly, they were far more useful than either option. I didn't have any plans to communicate with my mother at school, but it couldn't hurt to have a private owl.

"Go on, dearie," she urged. "I know ol' Ollivander likes to say the wand chooses the wizard, but I think my owls can be even more selective."

"Alright then…" I walked up to the nearest cage and wiggled my finger against the bar. Inside was a midnight-black owl of a species I couldn't name. "Hey, you, how's it-Fuck!"

I jerked my finger back before the little bugger could take a bite of it. My startled yelp caused every owl and cat in the store to turn to me with a cross glare.

"Heh, yeah, that one's frisky. Might want to keep your voice down, dearie, lots of creatures here aren't fans of loud noises."

"Sorry…"

I learned my lesson. I triggered my Sight and walked from cage to cage, merely intending to stick my finger inside. If I didn't receive any visions of it getting nipped, I went ahead and petted the animal. I wanted an owl that was both smart and calm, not one of those ornery fuckers that left droppings in your shoe because you didn't give them a tribute of bacon.

In the end, I left the store with an absolute mammoth of an owl. She as an Eurasian eagle owl according to Wanda, the shopkeeper, and had some room to grow still. She didn't look all that special, just your typical tawny browns and grays, but her sheer size caught my eye. She was almost the size of my head and most of that volume was pure fluff. I knew because she turned out to be an incredibly affectionate bird who'd decided my head made for a perfect perch.

Wanda threw in a leather cap to protect my head from her talons.

I decided to call my newest ball of fluff Minerva, officially, after the Roman goddess of war and wisdom. Unofficially, I wanted to rub it in McGonagall's face. Cats were inferior to owls in every way.

Author's Note

Remember, for Blaise & co to be 14 at the start of canon, they would have had to be born in 1977, not 1980.

This makes Alicia Spinnet 16 years old.

Right, chapter-relevant animal fact for once: The Eurasian eagle owl is the second largest owl in the world, can have a wingspan of over six feet long and weigh north of ten pounds. It's a chonky birb.

I had pork bulgogi today. Not news, was delicious. That is all.

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