Harry Potter 1 Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

HP 1 - Harry Potter and the
Sorcerer's Stone

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CHAPTER FIVE
DIAGON ALLEY
H arry woke early the next morning. Although he could tell it was daylight,
he kept his eyes shut tight.
“It was a dream, he told himself firmly. “I dreamed a giant called Hagrid
came to tell me I was going to a school for wizards. When I open my eyes I’ll be
at home in my cupboard.”
There was suddenly a loud tapping noise.
And there’s Aunt Petunia knocking on the door, Harry thought, his heart
sinking. But he still didn’t open his eyes. It had been such a good dream.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“All right,” Harry mumbled, “I’m getting up.”
           He  sat  up  and  Hagrid’s  heavy  coat  fell  off  him.  The  hut  was  full  of
sunlight,  the  storm  was  over,  Hagrid  himself  was  asleep  on  the  collapsed  sofa,
and  there  was  an  owl  rapping  its  claw  on  the  window,  a  newspaper  held  in  its
beak.
Harry scrambled to his feet, so happy he felt as though a large balloon
was swelling inside him. He went straight to the window and jerked it open. The
owl swooped in and dropped the newspaper on top of Hagrid, who didn’t wake
up. The owl then fluttered onto the floor and began to attack Hagrid’s coat.
“Don’t do that.”
           Harry  tried  to  wave  the  owl  out  of  the  way,  but  it  snapped  its  beak
fiercely at him and carried on savaging the coat.
“Hagrid!” said Harry loudly. “There’s an owl —”
“Pay him,” Hagrid grunted into the sofa.
“What?”
“He wants payin’ fer deliverin’ the paper. Look in the pockets.”
Hagrid’s coat seemed to be made of nothing but pockets — bunches of
keys,  slug  pellets,  balls  of  string,  peppermint  humbugs,  teabags...finally,  Harry
pulled out a handful of strange-looking coins.
“Give him five Knuts,” said Hagrid sleepily.
“Knuts?”
“The little bronze ones.”
Harry counted out five little bronze coins, and the owl held out his leg so

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Harry could put the money into a small leather pouch tied to it. Then he flew off
through the open window.
Hagrid yawned loudly, sat up, and stretched.
“Best be off, Harry, lots ter do today, gotta get up ter London an’ buy all
yer stuff fer school.”
Harry was turning over the wizard coins and looking at them. He had just
thought of something that made him feel as though the happy balloon inside him
had got a puncture.
“Um — Hagrid?”
“Mm?” said Hagrid, who was pulling on his huge boots.
“I haven’t got any money — and you heard Uncle Vernon last night…he
won’t pay for me to go and learn magic.”
           “Don’t  worry  about  that,”  said  Hagrid,  standing  up  and  scratching  his
head. “D’yeh think yer parents didn’t leave yeh anything?”
“But if their house was destroyed —”
“They didn’ keep their gold in the house, boy! Nah, first stop fer us is
Gringotts. Wizards’ bank. Have a sausage, they’re not bad cold — an’ I wouldn’
say no teh a bit o’ yer birthday cake, neither.”
“Wizards have banks?”
“Just the one. Gringotts. Run by goblins.”
Harry dropped the bit of sausage he was holding.
“Goblins?”
“Yeah — so yeh’d be mad ter try an’ rob it, I’ll tell yeh that. Never mess
with  goblins,  Harry.  Gringotts  is  the  safest  place  in  the  world  fer  anything  yeh
want  ter  keep  safe  —  ‘cept  maybe  Hogwarts.  As  a  matter  o’  fact,  I  gotta  visit
Gringotts  anyway.  Fer  Dumbledore.  Hogwarts  business.”  Hagrid  drew  himself
up proudly. “He usually gets me ter do important stuff fer him. Fetchin’ you —
gettin’ things from Gringotts — knows he can trust me, see.”
“Got everythin’? Come on, then.”
Harry followed Hagrid out onto the rock. The sky was quite clear now
and the sea gleamed in the sunlight. The boat Uncle Vernon had hired was still
there, with a lot of water in the bottom after the storm.
“How did you get here?” Harry asked, looking around for another boat.
“Flew,” said Hagrid.
“Flew?”
“Yeah — but we’ll go back in this. Not s’pposed ter use magic now I’ve
got yeh.”
           They  settled  down  in  the  boat,  Harry  still  staring  at  Hagrid,  trying  to
imagine him flying.

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“Seems a shame ter row, though,” said Hagrid, giving Harry another of
his sideways looks. “If I was ter — er — speed things up a bit, would yeh mind
not mentionin’ it at Hogwarts?”
“Of course not,” said Harry, eager to see more magic. Hagrid pulled out
the pink umbrella again, tapped it twice on the side of the boat, and they sped off
toward land.
“Why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?” Harry asked.
           “Spells  —  enchantments,”  said  Hagrid,  unfolding  his  newspaper  as  he
spoke. “They say there’s dragons guardin’ the high security vaults. And then yeh
gotta  find  yer  way  —  Gringotts  is  hundreds  of  miles  under  London,  see.  Deep
under  the  Underground.  Yeh’d  die  of  hunger  tryin’  ter  get  out,  even  if  yeh  did
manage ter get yer hands on summat.”
       Harry sat  and  thought  about this  while  Hagrid read  his  newspaper, the
Daily Prophet. Harry had learned from Uncle Vernon that people liked to be left
alone  while  they  did  this,  but  it  was  very  difficult,  he’d  never  had  so  many
questions in his life.
“Ministry o’ Magic messin’ things up as usual,” Hagrid muttered, turning
the page.
           “There’s  a  Ministry  of  Magic?”  Harry  asked,  before  he  could  stop
himself.
           “’Course,”  said  Hagrid.  “They  wanted  Dumbledore  fer  Minister,  o’
course,  but  he’d  never  leave  Hogwarts,  so  old  Cornelius  Fudge  got  the  job.
Bungler if ever there was one. So he pelts Dumbledore with owls every morning,
askin’ fer advice.”
“But what does a Ministry of Magic do?”
           “Well,  their  main  job  is  to  keep  it  from  the  Muggles  that  there’s  still
witches an’ wizards up an’ down the country.”
“Why?”
           “Why?  Blimey,  Harry,  everyone’d  be  wantin’  magic  solutions  to  their
problems. Nah, we’re best left alone.”
           At  this  moment  the  boat  bumped  gently  into  the  harbor  wall.  Hagrid
folded up his newspaper, and they clambered up the stone steps onto the street.
Passersby stared a lot at Hagrid as they walked through the little town to
the  station.  Harry  couldn’t  blame  them.  Not  only  was  Hagrid  twice  as  tall  as
anyone else, he kept pointing at perfectly ordinary things like parking meters and
saying loudly, “See that, Harry? Things these Muggles dream up, eh?”
           “Hagrid,”  said  Harry,  panting  a  bit  as  he  ran  to  keep  up,  “did  you  say
there are dragons at Gringotts?”
“Well, so they say,” said Hagrid. “Crikey, I’d like a dragon.”

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“You’d like one?”
“Wanted one ever since I was a kid — here we go.”
           They  had  reached  the  station.  There  was  a  train  to  London  in  five
minutes’ time. Hagrid, who didn’t understand “Muggle money,” as he called it,
gave the bills to Harry so he could buy their tickets.
People stared more than ever on the train. Hagrid took up two seats and
sat knitting what looked like a canary-yellow circus tent.
“Still got yer letter, Harry?” he asked as he counted stitches.
Harry took the parchment envelope out of his pocket.
“Good,” said Hagrid. “There’s a list there of everything yeh need.”
           Harry  unfolded  a  second  piece  of  paper  he  hadn’t  noticed  the  night
before, and read:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL o f WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
UNIFORM
First-year students will require:
1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)
Please note that all pupils’ 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 Beginners’ 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 of glass or crystal phials
1 telescope set
1 brass scales

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Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad
PARENTS  ARE  REMINDED  THAT  FIRST  YEARS  ARE  NOT
ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS
“Can we buy all this in London?” Harry wondered aloud.
“If yeh know where to go,” said Hagrid.
Harry  had  never  been  to  London  before.  Although  Hagrid  seemed  to  know
where  he  was  going,  he  was  obviously  not  used  to  getting  there  in  an  ordinary
way.  He  got  stuck  in  the  ticket  barrier  on  the  Underground,  and  complained
loudly that the seats were too small and the trains too slow.
“I don’t know how the Muggles manage without magic,” he said as they
climbed a broken-down escalator that led up to a bustling road lined with shops.
Hagrid was so huge that he parted the crowd easily; all Harry had to do
was  keep  close  behind  him.  They  passed  book  shops  and  music  stores,
hamburger  restaurants  and  cinemas,  but  nowhere  that  looked  as  if  it  could  sell
you  a  magic  wand.  This  was  just  an  ordinary  street  full  of  ordinary  people.
Could there really be piles of wizard gold buried miles beneath them? Were there
really  shops  that  sold  spell  books  and  broomsticks?  Might  this  not  all  be  some
huge  joke  that  the  Dursleys  had  cooked  up?  If  Harry  hadn’t  known  that  the
Dursleys had no sense of humor, he might have thought so; yet somehow, even
though everything Hagrid had told him so far was unbelievable, Harry couldn’t
help trusting him.
“This is it,” said Hagrid, coming to a halt, “the Leaky Cauldron. It’s a
famous place.”
It was a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Hagrid hadn’t pointed it out, Harry
wouldn’t  have  noticed  it  was  there.  The  people  hurrying  by  didn’t  glance  at  it.
Their  eyes  slid  from  the  big  book  shop  on  one  side  to  the  record  shop  on  the
other  as  if  they  couldn’t  see  the  Leaky  Cauldron  at  all.  In  fact,  Harry  had  the
most  peculiar  feeling  that  only  he  and  Hagrid  could  see  it.  Before  he  could
mention this, Hagrid had steered him inside.
For a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. A few old women were
sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a
long  pipe.  A  little  man  in  a  top  hat  was  talking  to  the  old  bartender,  who  was
quite  bald  and  looked  like  a  toothless  walnut.  The  low  buzz  of  chatter  stopped
when they walked in. Everyone seemed to know Hagrid; they waved and smiled
at him, and the bartender reached for a glass, saying, “The usual, Hagrid?”
“Can’t, Tom, I’m on Hogwarts business,” said Hagrid, clapping his great

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hand on Harry’s shoulder and making Harry’s knees buckle.
“Good Lord,” said the bartender, peering at Harry, “is this — can this be
—?”
The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent.
“Bless my soul,” whispered the old bartender, “Harry Potter…what an
honor.”
He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Harry and seized his
hand, tears in his eyes.
“Welcome back, Mr. Potter, welcome back.”
Harry didn’t know what to say. Everyone was looking at him. The old
woman with the pipe was puffing on it without realizing it had gone out. Hagrid
was beaming.
Then there was a great scraping of chairs and the next moment, Harry
found himself shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron.
“Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, can’t believe I’m meeting you at last.”
“So proud, Mr. Potter, I’m just so proud.”
“Always wanted to shake your hand — I’m all of a flutter.”
           “Delighted,  Mr.  Potter,  just  can’t  tell  you,  Diggle’s  the  name,  Dedalus
Diggle.”
“I’ve seen you before!” said Harry, as Dedalus Diggle’s top hat fell off in
his excitement. “You bowed to me once in a shop.”
           “He  remembers!”  cried  Dedalus  Diggle,  looking  around  at  everyone.
“Did you hear that? He remembers me!” Harry shook hands again and again —
Doris Crockford kept coming back for more.
           A  pale  young  man  made  his  way  forward,  very  nervously.  One  of  his
eyes was twitching.
“Professor Quirrell!” said Hagrid. “Harry, Professor Quirrell will be one
of your teachers at Hogwarts.”
“P-P-Potter,” stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping Harry’s hand, “c-
can’t t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you.”
“What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?”
“D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts,” muttered Professor Quirrell, as
though he’d rather not think about it. “N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter?”
He laughed nervously. “You’ll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I’ve
g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself.” He looked terrified at
the very thought.
But the others wouldn’t let Professor Quirrell keep Harry to himself. It
took almost ten minutes to get away from them all. At last, Hagrid managed to
make himself heard over the babble.

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“Must get on — lots ter buy. Come on, Harry.”
Doris Crockford shook Harry’s hand one last time, and Hagrid led them
through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing
but a trash can and a few weeds.
Hagrid grinned at Harry.
“Told yeh, didn’t I? Told yeh you was famous. Even Professor Quirrell
was tremblin’ ter meet yeh — mind you, he’s usually tremblin’.”
“Is he always that nervous?”
“Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin’
outta books but then he took a year off ter get some firsthand experience....They
say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit o’ trouble with
a  hag  —  never  been  the  same  since.  Scared  of  the  students,  scared  of  his  own
subject — now, where’s me umbrella?”
Vampires? Hags? Harry’s head was swimming. Hagrid, meanwhile, was
counting bricks in the wall above the trash can.
“Three up…two across…” he muttered. “Right, stand back, Harry.”
He tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella.
           The  brick  he  had  touched  quivered  —  it  wriggled  —  in  the  middle,  a
small  hole  appeared  —  it  grew  wider  and  wider  —  a  second  later  they  were
facing  an  archway  large  enough  even  for  Hagrid,  an  archway  onto  a  cobbled
street that twisted and turned out of sight.
“Welcome,” said Hagrid, “to Diagon Alley.”
           He  grinned  at  Harry’s  amazement.  They  stepped  through  the  archway.
Harry  looked  quickly  over  his  shoulder  and  saw  the  archway  shrink  instantly
back into solid wall.
The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop.
Cauldrons  —  All  Sizes  —  Copper,  Brass,  Pewter,  Silver  —  Self-Stirring  —
Collapsible, said a sign hanging over them.
“Yeah, you’ll be needin’ one,” said Hagrid, “but we gotta get yer money
first.”
Harry wished he had about eight more eyes. He turned his head in every
direction  as  they  walked  up  the  street,  trying  to  look  at  everything  at  once:  the
shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping. A plump woman
outside  an  Apothecary  was  shaking  her  head  as  they  passed,  saying,  “Dragon
liver, seventeen Sickles an ounce, they’re mad.…”
A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops
Owl  Emporium  —  Tawny,  Screech,  Barn,  Brown,  and  Snowy.  Several  boys  of
about Harry’s age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in
it.  “Look,”  Harry  heard  one  of  them  say,  “the  new  Nimbus  Two  Thousand  —

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fastest  ever  —”  There  were  shops  selling  robes,  shops  selling  telescopes  and
strange  silver  instruments  Harry  had  never  seen  before,  windows  stacked  with
barrels  of  bat  spleens  and  eels’  eyes,  tottering  piles  of  spell  books,  quills,  and
rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon.…
“Gringotts,” said Hagrid.
           They  had  reached  a  snowy  white  building  that  towered  over  the  other
little  shops.  Standing  beside  its  burnished  bronze  doors,  wearing  a  uniform  of
scarlet and gold, was —
“Yeah, that’s a goblin,” said Hagrid quietly as they walked up the white
stone steps toward him. The goblin was about a head shorter than Harry. He had
a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Harry noticed, very long fingers and
feet.  He  bowed  as  they  walked  inside.  Now  they  were  facing  a  second  pair  of
doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:
Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed,
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.
“Like I said, Yeh’d be mad ter try an’ rob it,” said Hagrid.
A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors and they were in a
vast  marble  hall.  About  a  hundred  more  goblins  were  sitting  on  high  stools
behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales,
examining  precious  stones  through  eyeglasses.  There  were  too  many  doors  to
count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out
of these. Hagrid and Harry made for the counter.
           “Morning,”  said  Hagrid  to  a  free  goblin.  “We’ve  come  ter  take  some
money outta Mr. Harry Potter’s safe.”
“You have his key, sir?”
           “Got  it  here  somewhere,”  said  Hagrid,  and  he  started  emptying  his
pockets  onto  the  counter,  scattering  a  handful  of  moldy  dog  biscuits  over  the
goblin’s  book  of  numbers.  The  goblin  wrinkled  his  nose.  Harry  watched  the
goblin on their right weighing a pile of rubies as big as glowing coals.
“Got it,” said Hagrid at last, holding up a tiny golden key.
The goblin looked at it closely.
“That seems to be in order.”

---

“An’ I’ve also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore,” said Hagrid
importantly,  throwing  out  his  chest.  “It’s  about  the  You-Know-What  in  vault
seven hundred and thirteen.”
The goblin read the letter carefully.
           “Very  well,”  he  said,  handing  it  back  to  Hagrid,  “I  will  have  someone
take you down to both vaults. Griphook!”
Griphook was yet another goblin. Once Hagrid had crammed all the dog
biscuits back inside his pockets, he and Harry followed Griphook toward one of
the doors leading off the hall.
           “What’s  the  You-Know-What  in  vault  seven  hundred  and  thirteen?”
Harry asked.
“Can’t tell yeh that,” said Hagrid mysteriously. “Very secret. Hogwarts
business. Dumbledore’s trusted me. More’n my job’s worth ter tell yeh that.”
Griphook held the door open for them. Harry, who had expected more
marble, was surprised. They were in a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming
torches.  It  sloped  steeply  downward  and  there  were  little  railway  tracks  on  the
floor.  Griphook  whistled  and  a  small  cart  came  hurtling  up  the  tracks  toward
them. They climbed in — Hagrid with some difficulty — and were off.
At first they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages. Harry tried
to remember, left, right, right, left, middle fork, right, left, but it was impossible.
The  rattling  cart  seemed  to  know  its  own  way,  because  Griphook  wasn’t
steering.
           Harry’s  eyes  stung  as  the  cold  air  rushed  past  them,  but  he  kept  them
wide open. Once, he thought he saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage and
twisted  around  to  see  if  it  was  a  dragon,  but  too  late  —  they  plunged  even
deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew
from the ceiling and floor.
“I never know,” Harry called to Hagrid over the noise of the cart, “what’s
the difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite?”
“Stalagmite’s got an ‘m’ in it,” said Hagrid. “An’ don’ ask me questions
just now, I think I’m gonna be sick.”
He did look very green, and when the cart stopped at last beside a small
door in the passage wall, Hagrid got out and had to lean against the wall to stop
his knees from trembling.
Griphook unlocked the door. A lot of green smoke came billowing out,
and as it cleared, Harry gasped. Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns of
silver. Heaps of little bronze Knuts.
“All yours,” smiled Hagrid.
           All  Harry’s  —  it  was  incredible.  The  Dursleys  couldn’t  have  known

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about  this  or  they’d  have  had  it  from  him  faster  than  blinking.  How  often  had
they complained how much Harry cost them to keep? And all the time there had
been a small fortune belonging to him, buried deep under London.
Hagrid helped Harry pile some of it into a bag.
“The gold ones are Galleons,” he explained. “Seventeen silver Sickles to
a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it’s easy enough. Right, that should
be enough fer a couple o’ terms, we’ll keep the rest safe for yeh.” He turned to
Griphook.  “Vault  seven  hundred  and  thirteen  now,  please,  and  can  we  go  more
slowly?”
“One speed only,” said Griphook.
They were going even deeper now and gathering speed. The air became
colder and colder as they hurtled round tight corners. They went rattling over an
underground ravine, and Harry leaned over the side to try to see what was down
at the dark bottom, but Hagrid groaned and pulled him back by the scruff of his
neck.
Vault seven hundred and thirteen had no keyhole.
           “Stand  back,”  said  Griphook  importantly.  He  stroked  the  door  gently
with one of his long fingers and it simply melted away.
“If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they’d be sucked through the
door and trapped in there,” said Griphook.
“How often do you check to see if anyone’s inside?” Harry asked.
“About once every ten years,” said Griphook with a rather nasty grin.
Something really extraordinary had to be inside this top security vault,
Harry was sure, and he leaned forward eagerly, expecting to see fabulous jewels
at the very least — but at first he thought it was empty. Then he noticed a grubby
little package wrapped up in brown paper lying on the floor. Hagrid picked it up
and tucked it deep inside his coat. Harry longed to know what it was, but knew
better than to ask.
           “Come  on,  back  in  this  infernal  cart,  and  don’t  talk  to  me  on  the  way
back, it’s best if I keep me mouth shut,” said Hagrid.
One wild cart ride later they stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts.
Harry  didn’t  know  where  to  run  first  now  that  he  had  a  bag  full  of  money.  He
didn’t have to know how many Galleons there were to a pound to know that he
was  holding  more  money  than  he’d  had  in  his  whole  life  —  more  money  than
even Dudley had ever had.
“Might as well get yer uniform,” said Hagrid, nodding toward Madam
Malkin’s  Robes  for  All  Occasions.  “Listen,  Harry,  would  yeh  mind  if  I  slipped
off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts.” He did

---

still  look  a  bit  sick,  so  Harry  entered  Madam  Malkin’s  shop  alone,  feeling
nervous.
Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve.
           “Hogwarts,  dear?”  she  said,  when  Harry  started  to  speak.  “Got  the  lot
here — another young man being fitted up just now, in fact.”
In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a
footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin
stood Harry on a stool next to him slipped a long robe over his head, and began
to pin it to the right length.
“Hello,” said the boy, “Hogwarts, too?”
“Yes,” said Harry.
           “My  father’s  next  door  buying  my  books  and  mother’s  up  the  street
looking  at  wands,”  said  the  boy.  He  had  a  bored,  drawling  voice.  “Then  I’m
going to drag them off to took at racing brooms. I don’t see why first years can’t
have their own. I think I’ll bully father into getting me one and I’ll smuggle it in
somehow.”
Harry was strongly reminded of Dudley.
“Have you got your own broom?” the boy went on.
“No,” said Harry.
“Play Quidditch at all?”
“No,” Harry said again, wondering what on earth Quidditch could be.
“I do — Father says it’s a crime if I’m not picked to play for my house,
and I must say, I agree. Know what house you’ll be in yet?”
“No,” said Harry, feeling more stupid by the minute.
“Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I’ll
be in Slytherin, all our family have been — imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think
I’d leave, wouldn’t you?”
           “Mmm,”  said  Harry,  wishing  he  could  say  something  a  bit  more
interesting.
“I say, look at that man!” said the boy suddenly, nodding toward the front
window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Harry and pointing at two large
ice creams to show he couldn’t come in.
“That’s Hagrid,” said Harry, pleased to know something the boy didn’t.
“He works at Hogwarts.”
“Oh,” said the boy, “I’ve heard of him. He’s a sort of servant, isn’t he?”
“He’s the gamekeeper,” said Harry. He was liking the boy less and less
every second.
“Yes, exactly. I heard he’s a sort of savage — lives in a hut on the school
grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up

---

setting fire to his bed.”
“I think he’s brilliant,” said Harry coldly.
“Do you?” said the boy, with a slight sneer. “Why is he with you? Where
are your parents?”
“They’re dead,” said Harry shortly. He didn’t feel much like going into
the matter with this boy.
“Oh, sorry,” said the other, not sounding sorry at all. “But they were our
kind, weren’t they?”
“They were a witch and wizard, if that’s what you mean.”
“I really don’t think they should let the other sort in, do you? They’re just
not the same, they’ve never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them
have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they
should keep it in the old wizarding families. What’s your surname, anyway?”
But before Harry could answer, Madam Malkin said, “That’s you done,
my dear,” and Harry, not sorry for an excuse to stop talking to the boy, hopped
down from the footstool.
“Well, I’ll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose,” said the drawling boy.
Harry was rather quiet as he ate the ice cream Hagrid had bought him
(chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts).
“What’s up?” said Hagrid.
“Nothing,” Harry lied. They stopped to buy parchment and quills. Harry
cheered up a bit when he found a bottle of ink that changed color as you wrote.
When they had left the shop, he said, “Hagrid, what’s Quidditch?”
           “Blimey,  Harry,  I  keep  forgettin’  how  little  yeh  know  —  not  knowin’
about Quidditch!”
“Don’t make me feel worse,” said Harry. He told Hagrid about the pale
boy in Madam Malkin’s.
“— and he said people from Muggle families shouldn’t even be allowed
in —”
           “Yer  not  from  a  Muggle  family.  If  he’d  known  who  yeh  were  —  he’s
grown  up  knowin’  yer  name  if  his  parents  are  wizardin’  folk.  You  saw  what
everyone  in  the  Leaky  Cauldron  was  like  when  they  saw  yeh.  Anyway,  what
does  he  know  about  it,  some  o’  the  best  I  ever  saw  were  the  only  ones  with
magic in ‘em in a long line o’ Muggles — look at yer mum! Look what she had
fer a sister!”
“So what is Quidditch?”
“It’s our sport. Wizard sport. It’s like — like soccer in the Muggle world
—  everyone  follows  Quidditch  —  played  up  in  the  air  on  broomsticks  and
there’s four balls — sorta hard ter explain the rules.”

---

“And what are Slytherin and Hufflepuff?”
           “School  houses.  There’s  four.  Everyone  says  Hufflepuff  are  a  lot  o’
duffers, but —”
“I bet I’m in Hufflepuff,” said Harry gloomily.
           “Better  Hufflepuff  than  Slytherin,”  said  Hagrid  darkly.  “There’s  not  a
single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn’t in Slytherin. You-Know-Who
was one.”
“Vol-, sorry —You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?”
“Years an’ years ago,” said Hagrid.
They bought Harry’s school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts
where  the  shelves  were  stacked  to  the  ceiling  with  books  as  large  as  paving
stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk; books
full  of  peculiar  symbols  and  a  few  books  with  nothing  in  them  at  all.  Even
Dudley,  who  never  read  anything,  would  have  been  wild  to  get  his  hands  on
some  of  these.  Hagrid  almost  had  to  drag  Harry  away  from  Curses  and
Countercurses  (Bewitch  Your  Friends  and  Befuddle  Your  Enemies  with  the
Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying and Much, Much More)
by Professor Vindictus Viridian.
“I was trying to find out how to curse Dudley.”
“I’m not sayin’ that’s not a good idea, but yer not ter use magic in the
Muggle world except in very special circumstances,” said Hagrid. “An’ anyway,
yeh couldn’ work any of them curses yet, yeh’ll need a lot more study before yeh
get ter that level.”
           Hagrid  wouldn’t  let  Harry  buy  a  solid  gold  cauldron,  either  (“It  says
pewter  on  yer  list”),  but  they  got  a  nice  set  of  scales  for  weighing  potion
ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope. Then they visited the Apothecary,
which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, a mixture of bad
eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor; jars of herbs,
dried  roots,  and  bright  powders  lined  the  walls;  bundles  of  feathers,  strings  of
fangs,  and  snarled  claws  hung  from  the  ceiling.  While  Hagrid  asked  the  man
behind the counter for a supply of some basic potion ingredients for Harry, Harry
himself  examined  silver  unicorn  horns  at  twenty-one  Galleons  each  and
minuscule, glittery-black beetle eyes (five Knuts a scoop).
Outside the Apothecary, Hagrid checked Harry’s list again.
           “Just  yer  wand  left  —  A  yeah,  an’  I  still  haven’t  got  yeh  a  birthday
present.”
Harry felt himself go red.
“You don’t have to —”
“I know I don’t have to. Tell yeh what, I’ll get yer animal. Not a toad,

---

toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh’d be laughed at — an’ I don’ like cats,
they make me sneeze. I’ll get yer an owl. All the kids want owls, they’re dead
useful, carry yer mail an’ everythin’.”
Twenty minutes later, they left Eeylops Owl Emporium, which had been
dark  and  full  of  rustling  and  flickering,  jewel-bright  eyes.  Harry  now  carried  a
large cage that held a beautiful snowy owl, fast asleep with her head under her
wing.  He  couldn’t  stop  stammering  his  thanks,  sounding  just  like  Professor
Quirrell.
“Don’ mention it,” said Hagrid gruffly. “Don’ expect you’ve had a lotta
presents from them Dursleys. Just Ollivanders left now — only place fer wands,
Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand.”
A magic wand…this was what Harry had been really looking forward to.
The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door
read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a
faded purple cushion in the dusty window.
A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped
inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that Hagrid
sat on to wait. Harry felt strangely as though he had entered a very strict library;
he  swallowed  a  lot  of  new  questions  that  had  just  occurred  to  him  and  looked
instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For
some  reason,  the  back  of  his  neck  prickled.  The  very  dust  and  silence  in  here
seemed to tingle with some secret magic.
           “Good  afternoon,”  said  a  soft  voice.  Harry  jumped.  Hagrid  must  have
jumped, too, because there was a loud crunching noise and he got quickly off the
spindly chair.
An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like
moons through the gloom of the shop.
“Hello,” said Harry awkwardly.
           “Ah  yes,”  said  the  man.  “Yes,  yes.  I  thought  I’d  be  seeing  you  soon.
Harry Potter.” It wasn’t a question. “You have your mother’s eyes. It seems only
yesterday  she  was  in  here  herself,  buying  her  first  wand.  Ten  and  a  quarter
inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work.”
           Mr.  Ollivander  moved  closer  to  Harry.  Harry  wished  he  would  blink.
Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy.
           “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.”
Mr. Ollivander had come 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  touched  the  lightning  scar  on  Harry’s  forehead  with  a
long, white finger.
“I’m sorry to say I sold the wand that did it,” he said softly. “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.
…”
He shook his head and then, to Harry’s relief, spotted Hagrid.
           “Rubeus!  Rubeus  Hagrid!  How  nice  to  see  you  again.…Oak,  sixteen
inches, rather bendy, wasn’t it?”
“It was, sir, yes,” said Hagrid.
“Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you
got expelled?” said Mr. Ollivander, suddenly stern.
“Er — yes, they did, yes,” said Hagrid, shuffling his feet. “I’ve still got
the pieces, though,” he added brightly.
“But you don’t use them?” said Mr. Ollivander sharply.
           “Oh,  no,  sir,”  said  Hagrid  quickly.  Harry  noticed  he  gripped  his  pink
umbrella very tightly as he spoke.
           “Hmmm,”  said  Mr.  Ollivander,  giving  Hagrid  a  piercing  look.  “Well,
now  —  Mr.  Potter.  Let  me  see.”  He  pulled  a  long  tape  measure  with  silver
markings out of his pocket. “Which is your wand arm?”
“Er — well, I’m right-handed,” said Harry.
           “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.”
           Harry  suddenly  realized  that  the  tape  measure,  which  was  measuring
between  his  nostrils,  was  doing  this  on  its  own.  Mr.  Ollivander  was  flitting
around the shelves, taking down boxes.
“That will do,” he said, and the tape measure 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 took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, 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.”
Harry tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting
for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair,
but  the  more  wands  Mr.  Ollivander  pulled  from  the  shelves,  the  happier  he
seemed to become.
           “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. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised
the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a
stream  of  red  and  gold  sparks  shot  from  the  end  like  a  firework,  throwing
dancing  spots  of  light  on  to  the  walls.  Hagrid  whooped  and  clapped  and  Mr.
Ollivander cried, “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, “Curious…curious…
“Sorry,” said Harry, “but what’s curious?”
Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale 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 swallowed.
“Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. 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.  He  wasn’t  sure  he  liked  Mr.  Ollivander  too  much.  He
paid seven gold Galleons for his wand, and Mr. Ollivander bowed them from his
shop.
The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Harry and Hagrid made their
way  back  down  Diagon  Alley,  back  through  the  wall,  back  through  the  Leaky
Cauldron, now empty. Harry didn’t speak at all as they walked down the road; he
didn’t even notice how much people were gawking at them on the Underground,
laden  as  they  were  with  all  their  funny-shaped  packages,  with  the  snowy  owl
asleep  in  its  cage  on  Harry’s  lap.  Up  another  escalator,  out  into  Paddington

---

station;  Harry  only  realized  where  they  were  when  Hagrid  tapped  him  on  the
shoulder.
“Got time fer a bite to eat before yer train leaves,” he said.
He bought Harry a hamburger and they sat down on plastic seats to eat
them. Harry kept looking around. Everything looked so strange, somehow.
“You all right, Harry? Yer very quiet,” said Hagrid.
Harry wasn’t sure he could explain. He’d just had the best birthday of his
life — and yet — he chewed his hamburger, trying to find the words.
“Everyone thinks I’m special,” he said at last. “All those people in the
Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Mr. Ollivander…but I don’t know anything
about  magic  at  all.  How  can  they  expect  great  things?  I’m  famous  and  I  can’t
even  remember  what  I’m  famous  for.  I  don’t  know  what  happened  when  Vol-,
sorry — I mean, the night my parents died.”
Hagrid leaned across the table. Behind the wild beard and eyebrows he
wore a very kind smile.
“Don’ you worry, Harry. You’ll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the
beginning  at  Hogwarts,  you’ll  be  just  fine.  Just  be  yerself.  I  know  it’s  hard.
Yeh’ve been singled out, an’ that’s always hard. But yeh’ll have a great time at
Hogwarts — I did — still do, ’smatter of fact.”
           Hagrid  helped  Harry  on  to  the  train  that  would  take  him  back  to  the
Dursleys, then handed him an envelope.
“Yer ticket fer Hogwarts, “ he said. “First o’ September — King’s Cross
— it’s all on yer ticket. Any problems with the Dursleys, send me a letter with
yer owl, she’ll know where to find me….See yeh soon, Harry.”
The train pulled out of the station. Harry wanted to watch Hagrid until he
was out of sight; he rose in his seat and pressed his nose against the window, but
he blinked and Hagrid had gone.

---