Chapter 12-Tom, Dick, And Harry

Chapter 12: Tom, Dick, and Harry

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress.

Harry stared at the letter, absolutely delighted. This was it. It was finally here. No more sitting around at Number 4 Privet Drive waiting for real life to start - now he was going to Hogwarts, where he belonged. No more Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and Dudley; no more angry teachers and frightened classmates; no more muggles. He was about to be set free. And it was all because of this wonderful little letter.

He immediately ran up the stairs to his room and pulled Tom's mirror out from under his pillow. "Tom! Tom! I got my letter!"

"Congratulations, Harry."

Harry looked at the mirror smugly, unable to contain the joy bursting inside him. "Why thank you, Tom."

Tom noticed the self-satisfied look on Harry's face, and scoffed a bit. "Insufferable child. You haven't even finished reading it yet. There should be another piece of parchment in there."

Harry reached into the envelope and pulled it out.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

Three sets of plain work robes (black)

One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags.

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad.

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK

Harry stared at the the list incredulously. "It's way too long."

"That is only because you are lazy."

"Hey! But really, Tom, do I have to buy all of this?"

"Fortunately, we can find all these things at Diagon Alley...it will take less time than you might think."

Harry nodded eagerly. "Ok. When are we going?"

"Tomorrow."

"Really!?"

"Of course."

"Is it just you and I, or are we bringing someone with us?"

The man in the mirror had a dismissive look on his face. "We'll find someone in London."

"One drop or two?"

"One should suffice."

Harry smiled and nodded. "Oh, and can I get a toad?"

Tom grimaced. "And why in the name of all that is holy would you want a toad?"

"I dunno, they're pretty cute, don't you think so?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Ok, what about a cat or owl? They can make hissing sounds, right? Could I teach it parseltongue!?"

Tom looked at him with that "what are you stupid?" look. "It doesn't work like that."

Harry pouted. "Fine."

"Now, if you're quite finished, open up that history book you were reading last night. I want to finish the chapter on human experimentation in Nazi Germany."

Harry grimaced. "Fine. But there's one thing that's bothering me about this letter, though..."

"Yes Harry?"

"What's a Mugwump?"

"I hardly think that's relevant."

:But Tooommmm...:

Harry fought hard to control his breathing as he nimbly danced through the crowded cafe, dodging patrons left and right. He'd done this a few times before, but it still made him nervous – it was hard maintaining his disillusionment charm while scurrying around, trying to touch no one. His heart was beating quickly when he reached the counter. Carefully, he removed a small vial from his pocket and gingerly dropped a drop of his translucent blue potion into a coffee cup waiting to be picked up. As soon as he'd done so, Harry ran outside to wait for Tom.

Less than 5 minutes later, a tall young man in a fine black, tastefully pinstriped suit (tie and everything) sauntered out of the coffee shop with a gait that could only be Tom's.

Harry's eyes widened. "He looks like a lawyer."

Indulging him, Tom reached into the breast pocket of the suit and pulled out a business card. He quirked an eyebrow. "You're right. Richard Becker, Attorney at Law."

Harry gasped. "His name's Richard?"

"Yes," Tom said absently, tossing the card aside.

"Then we're Tom, Dick, and Harry!"

Tom did not dignify that with an answer.

"Are you going to cast a glamour on me?"

When they originally visited Diagon Alley, Tom had cast the spell because Harry looked a lot like his father, and he wanted to be sure he wasn't recognized. However, during their trip to the Daily Prophet, Tom had discovered that Harry was actually quite famous in his own right, making it necessary, for subsequent visits, to keep casting the charm. Tom usually made Harry look roughly like whatever person he was possessing, so that they could pass for family.

"That will not be necessary, today. If anyone asks, I'm a friend of your mother's from overseas. Follow me."

Obediently, Harry trailed behind Tom, matching his long strides with a little bit of a jog. They had deliberately chosen a cafe near the Leaky Cauldron, so within 7 minutes, they'd reached Diagon Alley. It was a quick and easy walk, for which Harry, who'd barely slept the night before (who sleeps right after getting their Hogwarts letter?), was grateful.

In fact, the whole affair was rather quick. Harry'd already withdrawn enough from Gringotts last time they visited Diagon Alley (which was only a couple of months ago...Tom insisted that they visit Diagon Alley semi-frequently because he had business to attend to), so they went straight to Flourish and Blotts to purchase his school books (which Tom was kind enough to shrink for him), and then they headed off to look for his uniform. Harry was a little displeased about that particular task.

"Why do I need a pointed hat? It seems a bit silly, if you ask me. I mean, what's the point? If you know what I mean."

"Why do we need uniforms? Isn't that a muggle thing? I thought wizards would be more keen on individuality."

"Why does the fastening have to be silver? What if I want bronze or gold or something? I like silver better, but what if I didn't? Would they expel me for having bronze fastenings? That hardly seems fair."

While Madame Malkin was amused by his nitpicking comments, Tom was quite irritated by his questions (because he didn't know how to answer them, Harry thought), but seemed satisfied when sending a wave of pain through Harry's scar succeeded in shutting him up.

Retrieving the rest of his school supplies was rather routine, and pretty boring, to be honest, until they came to the end of their shopping list: his wand.

It was around 3 o'clock in the afternoon when they approached a shop labeled in letters of peeling gold over stained oak wood -

Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.

- which Harry thought was very impressive. Harry knew little about wands, but he figured that if a store had been in business since 382 B.C., their products must have been of superior quality.

"Ollivanders?"

"Garrick Ollivander is the wandmaker. My understanding is that the craft has been passed down in his family for generations."

"382 B.C. is a really long time ago," Harry commented, "Is he the best wandmaker in Diagon Alley?" He hadn't seen any other stores around around, but he assumed that not all of them were so old.

"The closest wandmaker I know of is Gregorovitch, but he works on the continent."

Harry blinked. "Then Mr. Ollivander has monopoly over the wand market here in England?"

Tom smirked a bit, amused. "Yes, that's correct Harry."

"Huh. Interesting."

"Indeed."

"So...do we just go in and try out wands?"

"This is probably one of the most important moments of your life, Harry. Alas, I will not be able to witness it with you."

"What? Why?"

"Garrick Olivander, the wandmaker, is a very observant man – he remembers every wand he ever sold. I will not risk him discovering who I am."

Harry nodded sadly. "I understand."

"Now, cheer up, Harry; your most faithful friend waits for you inside."

Harry looked up at him solemnly. "Second most faithful friend."

Tom raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, settling on pointedly nodding toward the door of the shop.

And that was what led Harry to enter the narrow, dark wand shop, blinking as he hit a substantial layer of dust upon his entrance. Boxes containing what Harry assumed were wands lined the walls, thousands of them piled at unsteady heights. Harry's eyes traced them high up to a second story of the shop, finding piles of other boxes above - all of them tingling with magic, causing Harry to feel faint as he observed the jumbled myriad.

"Good afternoon," a soft voice said suddenly.

Harry blinked, and turned around to see an old man, his wide, pale eyes seeming to shimmer in the darkness of the shop as they stared piercingly at Harry.

"Good afternoon."

The man tilted his head slightly in thought. "Ah yes," he began, "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter." He slowly titled his head to the other side, a subtle smile twisting his lips. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand - a young girl with eyes like jewels and hair like fire, the most determined smile on her face that I'd ever seen. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work. My understanding is that she put it to good use."

Harry stared at him, enraptured, silently begging him to say more.

"Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it — it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

Tom had told him as much, and Harry knew from experience that his best friend often went so far as to personify his own wand.

Meanwhile, Mr. Ollivander had stalked so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes.

"And that's where…"

Mr. Ollivander brushed Harry's wavy black fringe away from his forehead, touching the lightning bolt scar on Harry's forehead with a slender, pallid finger, whilst Harry froze, unsure of what he should respond to Mr. Ollivander's actions.

"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly, sadly; the slightest visage of guilt crossing his features. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands… well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do…"

"You'd have sold it anyway, right? That's your job, isn't it?" Harry asked frankly. "Everything happens for a reason, Mr. Ollivander."

Mr. Ollivander recoiled from Harry, eyeing him with a calm expression that was somewhat wary. "That it does, Mr. Potter, that it does."

Harry smiled a bit. "So...how do I go about getting a wand of my own?"

"Yes, yes," said Mr. Ollivander, seemingly snapping to attention. "Of course, Mr. Potter. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"Well, I'm right-handed," Harry replied.

"Then hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

So don't lose it, was the unspoken warning.

It was then that Harry realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing all this on its own, whilst Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, retrieving several boxes.

"That will do," he said, and the tape measure obediently crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."

Harry inspected the wand with wide and curious eyes, tentatively waving it, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try —"

Harry tried — but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.

"No, no — here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."

CRASH!

The shelves shook slightly, and Harry was quite sure he had just blown something up in the back of the store. He blushed.

"Well, it's certainly not that one. Here, try this…"

So Harry tried. And tried. And tried some more, beginning to feel quite bad about the whole thing. He had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for – and, of course, Mr. Ollivander wouldn't tell him. All he knew that he kept breaking things, and damaging poor Mr. Ollivander's shop. The man didn't seem upset about it, but he really did feel terrible. Was there something wrong with him? Was this normal? Was he defective? Why was this taking so long? Perhaps his wand wasn't there. What would he do then?

The pile of useless wands - oak and heartstrings, birch and heartstrings, willow and unicorn hair, phoenix feather and apple wood - was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair in the corner, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the more oddly gleeful he seemed to become, as though he had been presented with a brilliant challenge, a puzzle to be solved. Harry was glad someone was enjoying themselves, because he was starting to feel rather anxious about the whole affair.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere — I wonder, now — yes, why not — unusual combination — holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

Harry took the wand, very cautiously. Then, he felt a sudden warmth in his fingers – different from when he did magic without a wand, and yet the same; it was familiar, comfortable, and yet exciting...and incredibly intoxicating. It was vivid and potent, pointed and concrete; an experience he would never forget.

He raised the wand above his head and brought it swishing down through the dusty air, and a stream of sparks of every colour imaginable shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light all over the walls.

Mr. Ollivander smiled fully for the first time since Harry had met him, crying out , "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well… how curious… how very curious…"

He put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering absently, "Curious… curious…"

"Sorry, sir," said Harry, "But what's curious?"

Mr. Ollivander cast upon Harry his blank, pallid stare.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather — just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother — why, its brother gave you that scar."

Harry's eyes widened.

"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew," Ollivander repeated, caught up in the memory of it, "Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember… I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter…after all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things — terrible, yes, but great."

Harry shivered at the man's smoothly expectant, fascinated tone; he hoped he looked wary, perhaps a little bit fearful, but inside he was bursting with joy. He and Tom had brother wands. How cool was that?

Harry gave the man a small smile. "Isn't greatness in the eye of the beholder, sir?"

Ollivander's gaze sharpened. "Indeed it is Mr. Potter, but if I may be so bold, I would posit that what you can accomplish will be great in the eyes of many, if not all."

"But...how could you know something like that? Do you know the future, sir?" Harry asked avidly.

The old man chuckled a bit, before the smile once again slipped off his face. "No Mr. Potter, I do not know the future. Whether you will be good or evil, loved or feared, kind or terrible, I do not know. But when one has been around as long as I have, one learns to recognize potential."

Harry nodded slowly. "I will certainly do my best, Mr. Ollivander."

The man stared at him for a long minute, his eyes scrutinizing Harry mercilessly. Soon, though, he snapped out of it. "Eleven galleons," He said, making his way behind the counter.

Once Harry reached the out side of the shop, he thought he might explode with happiness as he ran up to Tom, who was looking at him expectantly.

"Tom! Guess what? Guess what?"

Tom smiled at him with uncharacteristic softness. "What is it, Harry?"

"My wand! Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches long! The core is the same as yours, Tom! Mr. Ollivander said that they're brother wands!"

Tom stared at him with wide eyes, and looked stunned for a moment, before he recovered, and a smile curved his lips again. "Well isn't that fascinating? Very fascinating indeed."

Harry smiled brilliantly up at his friend, completely oblivious to the cold metal cogs turning in Tom's mind.