The next morning, Arthur was shaken out of sleep by Hermione hamring at his door.
"Bloody hell, why was I dreaming about that?" he groaned, rubbing his eyes.
"Co on, cousin! Get up! A professor from Hogwarts is here!" Hermione's excited voice ca through the woods.
Arthur threw on so clothes and stumbled into the sitting room—only to stop short.
A stern-looking witch in a dark green robe and a pointed black hat was seated primly on the couch.
Of course. Professor McGonagall herself. Figures she's the one running around on weekends explaining wizarding school to clueless Muggle families. Dumbledore? Too busy sipping sherbet lemon and 'being mysterious.' Snape? Acts like everyone owes him rent money. Flitwick? Too short and too sensitive. Sprout? Lives in her greenhouse. So, naturally, the Deputy Headmistress gets stuck with all the grunt work.
And Hagrid? Please. That's a "main character only" perk. Harry Potter DLC exclusive.
"Good morning, Mr. Arthur." McGonagall's Scottish brogue was crisp as she greeted him.
"Good morning, Professor," Arthur replied politely.
"Excellent. Since everyone is here, do you have any questions before we continue?" she asked, scanning the family.
Mr. Granger, ever the dentist-scientist type, raised a hand. "Could you… perhaps show us so magic?"
McGonagall arched an eyebrow—clearly surprised they weren't doubting her at all—but obliged. With a flick of her wand, the teacup on the table morphed into a tabby cat, which promptly sat down and licked its paw.
The Grangers gasped. Hermione nearly vibrated out of her chair.
"Wow! Professor, will we get to learn that spell at school?" she blurted out.
McGonagall's lips twitched—her version of a smile. "Yes, child. That was Transfiguration, and it will be my class you learn it in."
She handed over a slip of parchnt. "This is the address of the place you'll need to visit to purchase school supplies. Diagon Alley. I'm afraid I must hurry—I have several more families to visit today. I'll see you both at Hogwarts."
And with that, she was gone in a whirl of Floo flas.
Hermione imdiately rounded on her parents. "Mum, Dad—we have to go! Today! To Diagon Alley!"
It just so happened to be the weekend, and with no dental patients scheduled, the Grangers agreed.
The Leaky Cauldron sat tucked between a bookshop and a record store. Mr. and Mrs. Granger frowned in confusion—they couldn't see it at all. A Muggle-Repelling Charm shimred faintly in the air.
Arthur and Hermione each grabbed one parent's hand and marched them straight through the barrier.
Inside, the pub was dim, dingy, and slled faintly of mildew and ale.
Hermione's nose wrinkled in distaste. So much for the glittering magical world.
Arthur, unsurprised, grimaced too. Seriously? A single Scourgify charm could fix half this ss. Maybe throw in a Lumos Maxima or, I don't know, a bloody lantern. But nooo, let's keep it dark and sketchy—it's "mysterious."
Tom the barman guided them through the brick wall into Diagon Alley proper.
First stop: Gringotts.
Arthur squinted at the marble edifice. Right. Still can't figure this one out. Why exactly do wizards trust their entire economy to goblins—creatures who look like they were designed to run Ponzi sches? And this currency system—seriously? One Galleon equals seventeen Sickles equals four hundred ninety-three Knuts? Who designed this—an accountant on mushrooms?
He jingled a pouch in his hand. One hundred shiny Galleons.
Each of these things is massive—like, bigger than a one-pound coin. Figure about twenty grams of gold apiece. At fifteen quid per gram, that's… three hundred pounds sterling per Galleon. aning if I just offload two of these, I'll cover all my exchange costs and still profit. Wizards, you sweet, naive people.
After collecting their funds, they let Hermione choose the first shop. Unsurprisingly, she dragged them straight toward Ollivander's.
The sign read:
"Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C."
The bell jingled as they entered. Dust motes floated in the air.
"Welco to Ollivanders," ca a gentle, almost musical voice. "Ah, new faces. First-years, are you?"
Garrick Ollivander himself erged, pale eyes gleaming with uncanny intensity.
Arthur shivered slightly. Yep. Creepy, but in a cozy old-grandpa way. The kind who stares directly into your soul while telling you about wand cores.
Hermione bead. Arthur, ever the charr, said, "Hello, sir. Your voice is really pleasant."
Ollivander blinked. Then, with an odd, delighted smile: "Why, thank you. You're the first child to ever say that."
He clapped his hands softly. "Well then, who's first?"
"Ladies first," Arthur said smoothly, stepping aside.
Hermione flushed but didn't argue.
A floating tape asure zipped around her, jotting down her dinsions. Arthur tilted his head. Do wand cores really care about arm span? Seems more like Ollivander math-magic to . Still, respect the hustle. Selling bespoke sticks for seven Galleons apiece—guy's either running a saintly charity or the biggest hidden markup in history.
Eventually, Hermione's wand chose her: vine wood, dragon heartstring, thirteen and three-quarter inches. Powerful, loyal to a clever mind.
Arthur smiled. Canon secured. Good for you, little bookworm.
Then it was his turn.
The tape asured him, scribbling notes. "Mr. Ollivander, if you don't mind my asking… what's the point of all the asuring?"
"Ah. It narrows the range," Ollivander said vaguely. "We use… let us call it nurological divination."
Arthur raised an eyebrow but didn't push. Trade secrets, fair enough.
The first wand—a cypress with unicorn hair—nearly exploded in his hand. Smoke curled from the tip.
Ollivander snatched it away. "Not a fit."
One by one, other wands fizzled, sparked, or threatened to combust.
Arthur hid a smirk. Yeah, sorry. I may have deliberately scrambled my mana channeling. These sticks are basically USB cables for magic. Disrupt the current, and—boom—Blue Screen of Death.
Finally, Ollivander brought out a rare wand. "Yew, dragon heartstring, fourteen inches. A powerful and dangerous pairing—capable of deciding life and death."
Arthur, this ti, let his mana flow naturally. The wand flared instantly, silver-white light cascading from the tip.
"Oh my," Ollivander whispered. "At last. Yes… this wand has chosen you. Treat it well, young man. It will be your greatest companion."
Arthur bowed slightly. "Thank you. I will."
Exchanging a grin with Hermione, he paid and stepped out into the sunlight.
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