Chapter 2: Diagonally Drifting

​"Diagonally, very clever," Harry said as he took in the magical street for the first time.

It was more subdued than he'd imagined it to be, but he guessed he was here two years earlier than Harry Potter had been in the books. Maybe the next years were where most of the after-war upswing occurred. He scrunched his brows at the intrusive thought that this world was too different for his supposed foreknowledge to be of any help.

Soon, he would find out how much knowledge was accurate. He was just a few news articles or history books away from confirming what was real and what was not.

They started making their way to Gringotts. Harry stepped over a small pack of sugar mice running away from a small child and asked a question that would hopefully lead to being able to ask about the possibility of purchasing Occlumency material. He hoped there was a way to check how far his self-training had gotten him before he went to Hogwarts. He started a line of questioning that should hopefully lead there.

"How do wizards deal with it if a non-magical sees them perform magic?"

"Obliviators, a special department created to upkeep the statute of secrecy. They adjust the memories of the witness. It's a respectable job, perhaps a bit unambitious, since you really only focus on one spell in the end," Slughorn said in a tone that he probably used on his students at Hogwarts. "But this will all be explained in the muggle-born guidebook we will get later. Quite a useful thing, that. Only recently did someone come up with the idea."

"That sounds like a very dangerous magic if misused though. Is there a way to defend one's self from it?" Harry asked.

Slughorn looked at Harry searchingly and slowed down a bit to consider his answer. "The Mind Arts, something one shouldn't be delving into at your age. The possibility of inflicting irreparable damage upon one's psyche is too high."

And that was that. No more answers were forthcoming despite Harry's continued prodding of the topic. All that he was able to find out was that Hogwarts did not have a newspaper collection in their library, which meant he wouldn't be able to check the usefulness of his knowledge at school. He needed to think of another solution. Retracing the history of what exactly was different in this world was one of his most important tasks at the moment.

They'd entered the bank, with its ominous poem and wide white arches, while Harry was stuck in his own thoughts. He only came to himself as the money he was privileged to was handed over by a surly goblin, directly to Slughorn, who stuck it inside his vest. Apparently, the Ministry of Magic had a holding account which needed a Head of House to access. This explained why Slughorn was here. He was the Head of Slytherin, still, or again, Harry hadn't been able to determine.

"Where does the money come from?" Harry asked, curiously, wondering who exactly was funding his schooling.

"Some foundations for muggle-borns, by other muggle-borns and the rest comes directly from the ministry," Slughorn explained as he rushed them out of the bank, apparently unwilling to spend too much time in the presence of the small but ferocious creatures that handled the wizarding's world gold.

"You mean taxes?" Harry asked, receiving a nod. "Guess you can't escape those even if you're a wizard," he mused as they made their way to Madam Malkins, where Harry was fitted for robes made from the lowest quality materials. He wondered if one of the reasons that purebloods hated muggleborns was simply because their taxes paid for their education and they'd rather just keep the money. After his measurements were taken, they moved on to other stores. His garments would be finished in an hour or two, while they completed the rest of Harry's shopping.

They stopped at the apothecary after and Harry paid particular attention to whatever advice the Potions Professor had to give, acting the part of the inquisitive student. It seemed to gain him back a few points that he had lost with his blunt manners and straightforward interest in Occlumency earlier. Harry bought one extra Bezoar and added it to his Potions Kit. He would fashion a necklace out of it back in Privet Drive. He'd been doing a lot of handy work in the garage so he had all the requisite tools.

Poisons scared him, to be honest, and the culturally almost mediaeval wizarding world seemed like it would still use them as a viable tactic against one's enemies. He shuddered to think what horrendous effects magical poisons could have on someone.

After buying the Bezoar Harry managed to convince Slughorn to take him to a second-hand bookstore in which he managed to find most of his textbooks for cheap, allowing him to pick up an additional three books. One on household Charms, one on personal hygiene magic and one on recent history. Nothing on the Mind Arts was apparent and when Harry tried to probe Slughorn on the topic again the man shut down faster than a guillotine during France's reign of terror.

Harry had to distract the professor with other topics, such as saying how excited he was to get the books that he had gotten. He knew that Slughorn likely had a very justified fear of students too invested in material beyond their age which could be used for malicious purposes. He decided to stop prodding.

"Your interest in household Charms, does it have a particular reason?" Slughorn asked once they'd left the store, at which Harry shrugged.

"Time is a precious resource, cleaning up after oneself, folding clothes, cooking, doing dishes, painting walls, brushing teeth. These are all chores, that if substituted with magic would save one perhaps an hour every day. This is 365 hours a year, which is a full 15 days. If one doesn't need to waste time or energy on these menial tasks then one can reinvest in something more important. Also, I imagine magically cleaning something is more effective than doing it by hand."

"Industrious thinking, although you will find that at Hogwarts most needs will be met by the house-elves." Slughorn complimented. "Never thought about it that way actually," he mused.

Harry nodded, thinking of the new learning material he'd gotten. It was probably enough to keep him occupied for a month, especially if he was able to cast spells. He remembered that Hermione had been able to practise at home before her first year. It would require some testing of the Trace.

The last place they stopped at was Ollivanders, a seemingly rickety old shop that nonetheless held a function central to the life of most witches and wizards inhabiting Britain. Harry entered alone, with the requisite money, Slughorn saying that he'd wait outside.

-/-

"What is a wand?" Harry asked as the old proprietor of the wand store set the measuring tape at him.

"Your mother was a curious one as well, willow wand, good for Charms. A wand is a tool to afflict magic onto the world," Ollivander answered as he considered different boxes, taking some out and adding new ones as the measurement tape provided new information.

"How does it do so though? The magic is in me, but I'm being told I need a wand to channel it properly. Is a wand something that resonates with my magic in certain ways, the wavelength created being the magical effect? Is a wand an amplifier, or does it simply enhance a spell? Is it a focal point, does it narrow magic down to create a more concentrated effect? Or is a wand a symbolic tool which helps codify and unify our magic system into something uniform?" Harry asked rapidly, having this one-time excuse to ask the wand-maker some questions that had been brewing in his mind for almost a decade now.

"Curious, perhaps not unicorn then. Too secure in their purity," Ollivander muttered and discarded almost a fourth of the boxes he'd accrued. He peered at the boy over the glasses he wore. Harry made sure to avoid eye contact with the watery blue orbs seeking his green ones.

"Wands are many things. Seldom is a tool prevalent only because it has only one advantage. Wands resonate, amplifying the effect, the focus, the ease of a given spell," he began explaining, Harry nodding along. "They unify the magical system into something comprehensible, predictable, researchable. Something with rules. Staves are powerful but lack finesse. Sorcery, that is to say, wandless magic, is completely and utterly individual, meaning every sorcerer starts from the beginning. What can a sorcerer discover, learn and create in one lifetime that the entire wizarding world working on a unified system for thousands of years cannot match a million times over? Wands are our friends, our allies, our third arm. They are what separates us from magical creatures. Our tool, birthright and gift…" he trailed off, his eyes glazing over. "Does that answer your question?" He asked after he snapped out of whatever daydream his monologue had sent him spiralling into and went back to his assortment of boxes.

"For the moment. I'll research the topic more when I have the chance to peruse the Hogwarts library," Harry said.

"I recommend Wandlore throughout the winding winds of time by Bork Stavenot. Hogwarts should have a copy." Ollivander said before suddenly shoving a box in Harry's face. "Here, try this. Hawthorne and dragon heartstring."

Harry took the dark wooden wand out of the box and for want of anything better to do, swished it in the general direction of the floor. Nothing seemed to happen and the wand was taken away.

It was at the next wand that Harry decided that he needed to take an active role in the process. Perhaps his magic was too controlled in comparison to the average child. It would make sense considering how much he practised what was apparently sorcery.

It only needed a split-second for Harry to concentrate enough to bring about a small part of the power he had available. He focused the energy into the arm holding the wand and flicked the wand at a splinter lying innocuously on the floor.

It burst into hot white flames for but a second, before disappearing, leaving nothing, not even a scorch mark. Harry grimaced. "I was trying to levitate it," he admitted. The wand was snatched out of his hand.

"Hawthorn and phoenix feather."

A stab at the air. The intended effect, a pleasant breeze, the result, one spark.

"We're getting somewhere, definitely not hawthorn, but phoenix…" Ollivander muttered and the next wand he produced from his pile of boxes was oak and phoenix feather.

The game continued, either the wand would not even attempt to reproduce the desired effect, or it would be so weak that it was clearly incompatible.

It was only when Harry received a light brown wand with reddish streaks that he felt something happen before he even attempted to cast anything. He furrowed his brows at the length of wood, about as long as his forearm sans hand, and decided on something more difficult. He began swirling the wand in a downward pointed circle, pulling on only a small amount of magic, something that the wand greedily sucked up, amplified, refined and focused. Water droplets started emerging from the air where the wand was swung and followed the magic stick around like a little colony of ducklings that gradually grew larger and larger, eventually becoming a stream, which became a miniature river. This was the point where Harry elegantly circled the wand upwards in tighter and tighter circles. This caused the gathered-up water to bunch off into a perfect sphere, about as large as a tennis ball. The water sphere hovered where Harry had left it, not requiring much concentration to be kept in position.

Harry felt elated as he looked at the wand in his hand. 'Now this was a tool,' he thought. The water ball exercise was something he'd been working on recently. It was something that had been very frustrating to form and hold in position. The wand had allowed him to gather a larger amount of water in maybe a fifth of the time that he usually needed and the levitation of the ball felt like he could hold it forever. Thinking for a moment if it was the correct decision to try something new Harry decided to let his enthusiasm have its due. With a light smile on his face, he smoothed out the surface of the water sphere and focused on stopping all motion within the localised phenomenon. A white ball began spreading in the middle of the sphere. It extended spindly arms around itself, growing slowly until it filled out the entirety of the sphere, its shell eventually turning to white jagged ice. Harry felt elated and slightly dizzy.

The ball dropped to the wooden floor, shattering into a million little ice crystals and Harry quickly handed the wand to Ollivander before sitting down on the floor and cradling his head. He had suddenly developed a thumping headache, which thankfully lessened with every second.

"Well, that was very impressive. I can't wait to see what you will manage to do when you start learning real spells, Mr. Evans. But for the moment, I believe it was a fitting display for the wand that has chosen you. Elder wood is not something given or taken lightly. One has to wait for a branch to fall off this tree, for if one snaps it, the wood becomes cursed. There aren't many elder wands and there are even fewer elder wand wielders. The core is phoenix ash, something used much more rarely than phoenix feather. Mostly, because phoenix ash is not as powerful as a willingly given feather. However, its symbolic ties to rebirth are much stronger. An interesting wand," Ollivander said as he packed the wand away in a box, apparently unconcerned about Harry's condition. "I'd truly hate to see you again Mr. Evans," he said, paused for a moment, before adding a leather contraption to the box and handing the whole ensemble to Harry, who had by then managed to stand up.

"Here, a wand holster, free of charge. That will be nine galleons."

Harry handed over the money and made to leave, many things on his mind.

"Mr. Evans," Ollivander called out just as Harry had put his hand on the door handle of the store. "Elder wood is suited for healing, protection and funnily enough, music. Phoenix ash on the other hand… I've not made or sold any wands that use the material. However, I imagine that the core will be suited for works of finesse. How that would be expressed I do not know. A warning, however. Phoenix ash holds a residue of death and while it might signal potential to rebirth it might also mean that it would wish to inflict a similar faith on others. Be careful what you cast on people you do not like," Ollivander warned gravely.

"Thank you for the warning, Mr. Ollivander," Harry said and exited the shop. The magical world suddenly seemed much brighter now that he'd gotten a wand. He took a moment to glance at the alley, appreciating its contours and old architectural styles, interspersed with clearly magical colours and effects.

It was in front of the shop that Slughorn was waiting. "Hard find?" The man asked.

Harry nodded. "I feel like I tried half the wands in the store, but we got there eventually."

"There are a few Knuts left from your yearly stipend. Not enough to buy anything worthwhile," Slughorn commented.

Harry shook his head. "I was actually thinking it would be nice to get you something as thanks for the help today, sir. I saw some ice cream on the way here, would you say it's worth trying?" Harry asked, feeling genuinely grateful that the probably busy man had taken time out of his schedule to introduce him to the Wizarding World. The suggestion seemed to be well-received as Slughorn laughed fully, moustache twitching.

"Magical ice cream, Harry, you're in for a treat. Let's go and give it a whirl," he said with a smile.

The ice cream was indeed good.