Harry Potter : Chapter 2: A Giant First Step I

After my confusing but undoubtedly rewarding shopping at Ollivander's, I found myself walking behind Hagrid's diminutive father across Diagon Alley.

It was... wild. Each and every building was skewed in this or that direction, the signs sang loudly about the goods inside of the shops, and just behind a panel of glass, the shop-owners had clearly tried to outdo each other in presenting a magnificent piece of their craft.

A shop was entirely dedicated to lenses, and there was a selection of monocules hung in the shop window, each rimmed with a different material that glittered under the bright sunlight of a typical July's afternoon.

The apothecary had an actual cauldron waiting above the entrance, from there spilt out in lazy waves twirls of feathers that turned out to be water drops that glittered like diamonds in the light before falling back into the cauldron, and from there yet another unique manifestation of magic was born.

To be entirely truthful, given the competition that I could spy from my two meters and something of height, Ollivander was the only one that didn't need the showmanship.

Slughorn is teaching potions, isn't he? I eyed the apothecary without truly knowing what to think about the man. On one side, he was a consumed Slytherin, meaning that he didn't think anything bad of speaking about Horcrux-related shit with Riddle, on the other, he didn't seem to be particularly prejudiced about muggle-borns, which, given the time period I was, was nothing short of outstanding.

Despite having only Dumbledore, Grindelwald and Tom as examples of truly extraordinary mages, it didn't look like sexism was a thing in the magical community, at least from what little I had been able to witness.

And maybe it made sense, why would a witch be any less powerful than a wizard? Bellatrix had proven herself the second in command of Voldemort for anything battle-related in canon, didn't she?

"C'mon, son, let's go home!" my... no, Hagrid's father exclaimed excitedly as he led me across the alley, even as I distractedly observed funny little witches from the country up for a day's shopping, venerable-looking wizards arguing over the latest article in Transfiguration Today, wild-looking warlocks and what I imagined were raucous dwarfs, I kept trying to come to terms with my situation.

Surprisingly enough, the thought that I had been chosen by Potter's wand... - no, it was my wand now - didn't fill me with too much trepidation.

Riddle could be anything from 3 to 2 years my elder, since I remembered him being a prefect at the time of the Chamber of Secrets. Didn't he call back the basilisk because of the possible closing of Hogwarts? That means he had yet at least a year to complete at school. I reasoned as I followed the diminutive figure of Hagrid's father.

A sigh escaped my lips, there were many things I needed to think about: I had already decided that I would do as I wanted, and to hell with ay potential future, but I needed concrete goals, something to measure my progress.

My fingers grazed briefly the wand in my wide pocket, and I relished in the warmth that surged up my arm and down my back.

The only certainty that I had, for the time being, was that a wand had chosen me: I was capable of magic, which in the world of Harry Potter, had a wide range of possibilities.

I took a pinch of glittering powder out of the pot resting on the mantelpiece, stepped up to the fire, and threw the powder into the flames. With a roar, the fire turned emerald green and rose high, swallowing me as I shouted.

"Hagrid's House!" and I vanished in the blaze. It felt as though I was being sucked down a giant drain. In the blurry hurricane of green flames, I felt like I was being spun very fast, and the fire roaring in my ears was deafening.

I dutifully kept my eyes open, trying to figure out what I was supposed to do, and looking through the stream of fireplaces I managed to catch glimpses of the rooms beyond, even if they were gone too fast for me to properly understand what I was looking at.

Eventually, the whirlwind of fire slowed down, and as soon as he recognized the diminutive form of Hagrid's father, I took a tentative step out of the fireplace.

I always wondered how exactly flooing worked. What if two people wanted to go to the same place at the same time? It still made sense that shouting 'Diagon Alley' one would floo through all the open fireplaces of the Alley, after all, Borgin & Burke had a fireplace since Harry ended up there.

Banishing my rambling thoughts, I looked around the room I had stepped into: it was circular with a diameter that could easily reach ten meters, while the ceiling sat at a height of roughly 4 meters. Well, more than a ceiling proper, it's the underside of the roof. 

I could tell from simply looking at it that it was made of dark slates, even if somewhat hidden by the dark wood beams from where selected few plants where hanging.

In the area immediately surrounding the fireplace, there was a couple of armchairs of ridiculous proportions: clearly, one of the two had been realized with the size that I would one day reach in mind, while the other was angled so that the one sitting in it would be able to see both the fireplace, the eventual guest in the bigger seating place, and the tall door that presumably lead outside.

On my left, illuminated by both the light of the fireplace (the flames had stopped burning green just as I finished flooing in) and the daylight entering from the thin slits that were the windows letting me glimpse the woods outside, there was an opening in the wall, and from the smells, I suspected that it led into a kitchen, and from there, I hoped in the rest of the house.

I know that canon Hagrid lived in a hut on the Hogwarts grounds, but he was unable to use magic, I hope his father managed to magic the building up a little. 

I frowned as I followed the bustling man into the kitchen, where he had already set a large bowl of stew upon the large table made of the same dark and somewhat worn wood that I thought composed the beams supporting the roof.

With my mind still trying to come to terms with the situation, I found myself nodding distractedly to the bumbling man chattering my ears off: "It's lucky that we had enough for your books and clothes!" he chuckled merrily, "But the joke's on the man of the second-hand books, the notes on those will likely help you! Are you excited? I sure was at my time, oh if only..."

The somewhat small man kept rembling good-naturedly while I ate my stew, noticing that even if it was July, it wasn't as hot as I would have suspected, and the warm stew was welcome in my stomach.

Without really thinking about it, my wand was lifted into my fingers as I marvelled once more at the feeling it gave off.

It was unlike anything else I had ever felt: in the same way the hot stew could be felt warming up my oesophagus as it reached my stomach, my bones felt like they were smouldering when the wand was twirled in my fingers. 

I guess I should count myself lucky that I've still somewhat human proportions for now. What will I do when this body becomes 3,5 meters tall? My pinky will be bigger than the wand.

My eyes fell on the bustling man that returned to washing the bowls before tiredly walking towards the fireplace, where he lit a pipe and started smoking, his cheerful mood turning thoughtful as he kept reminiscing about his youth. At least he used magic in order to set the kitchen.

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