Daily Life at Hogwarts - Chapter 5

“Do you need a Hogwarts school uniform, dear?” As soon as they stepped into the tailor shop, a short, plump witch greeted Albert with a gracious smile.

“Yes, ma’am,” Albert nodded. “Thank you for your assistance.”

“What a polite young man,” Mrs. Malkin beamed, “Let me measure you up.” With a flick of her finger, a tape measure, pins, and scissors flew towards them. They began to automatically measure Albert, leaving Herbert in astonishment.

Getting a tailored uniform was intricate and took almost half an hour. Mrs. Malkin told them to return after their shopping to collect the parcel.

“Ma’am, besides the prescribed school clothes, I’d like to order an extra black pointed hat and a standard black cloak tailored to my size but without a name tag. Also, could you wrap them separately?” Albert asked Mrs. Malkin after adjusting his slightly disheveled clothes.

“A black pointed hat and a standard cloak?” Mrs. Malkin repeated with confusion, looking at Herbert for confirmation.

“Yes,” Herbert nodded, knowing this was intended as a gift for Nia.

“Very well,” without pondering further on the odd request, Mrs. Malkin acknowledged.

After prepaying a sum of Galleons, the duo left Mrs. Malkin’s Robes and headed to Wiseacre’s Wizarding Equipment. There, they bought the brass scales, brass telescope, and glass phials listed on their supply list.

In fact, all Albert did was hand over the list to Wiseacre, indicating his intent to purchase the items. Within minutes, Wiseacre had everything ready and packed.

With a recommendation from Mr. Patch, the store’s proprietor, they located the apothecary and procured the potion ingredients required for school.

The apothecary was far from a pleasant place. The overpowering odors seemed purposely designed to deter visitors. Bizarre items were displayed—jars filled with strange herbs, dried roots, and brightly colored powders. Feathers, fangs, and fuzzy claws hung from the ceiling.

My goodness, how could wizards possibly brew and ingest potions made from these?

At the sight of a jar of nosebleed slugs, Herbert nearly lost his composure. It was all too revolting.

Herbert began to question the sanity of this entire venture. Maybe sending their child to Hogwarts wasn’t the wisest idea.

In addition to the potions, Albert also purchased several tools required for brewing.

After paying, Albert ushered a visibly disturbed Herbert out of the store.

“Albert, perhaps we should reconsider this,” Herbert suggested gravely as they moved away, “We could opt for Eton College.”

Albert’s face twitched, but he shook his head.

“But… the more I think about it, the less sensible it seems. Maybe Daisy was right,” Herbert looked at his son with mixed emotions.

“We still need to buy some books, a wand, and an owl,” Albert looked back at him, adding, “At least before understanding the magical world, don’t jump to conclusions.”

“Alright,” Herbert, though somewhat disheartened, eventually agreed.

At the Flourish & Blotts bookstore, Albert purchased the books on the list and added a basic tome about the history of the magical world.

Albert wanted to linger in the bookstore, but considering the time, he forwent that idea. Instead, he procured a booklist from the store manager, so he could order books via owl post in the future.

Next, in the stationery shop beside the Quality Quidditch Supplies store in Diagon Alley, he bought a generous amount of parchment, quills, and ink.

With the shopkeeper’s guidance, they located Eeylops Owl Emporium, prominently located on the northern side of Diagon Alley, distinguishable by the plethora of owls hanging outside.

Acquiring an owl was imperative; otherwise, Albert couldn’t maintain contact with his family. Herbert also pitched in, purchasing a bag of owl treats and owl nuts.

Pushing the shopping trolley, Herbert checked off the items on their list one by one. The last remaining item was the wand.

They found Ollivander’s wand shop on the southern side of Diagon Alley, thanks to directions from the witch selling owls.

It was a small and aged shop. When Albert pushed the door, a jingling sound echoed. The interior was minimalistic; aside from a bench, there was virtually nothing else.

As Herbert entered, pushing the trolley, the space felt almost entirely occupied. Sitting on the bench and munching on a pumpkin pastry he’d bought from a stall, he contemplated the treats on the trolley—gifts for Nia.

Albert, holding a pumpkin pastry, was feeling peckish as well.

“Excuse me, is anyone here?”

“Good afternoon,” a gentle voice responded as Ollivander emerged.

“Hello, sir. I’d like to purchase…” Albert began, setting down his pastry.

“A wand, oh yes. A new student from Hogwarts.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What’s your name?” Ollivander asked, noting the confusion in Albert’s eyes and explaining, “The Ministry requires a record of every wizard purchasing a wand from me.”

“Albert Anderson,” he introduced himself.

“Alright, Mr. Anderson.” Ollivander produced a tape measure, “Which arm do you use most?”

“My right,” Albert raised his arm.

Ollivander began measuring, from shoulder to fingertip, then wrist to elbow. The complexity of the process made both father and son doubt if Ollivander was really a wandmaker or a tailor in disguise.

“Every wand I craft is unique. Wizards always find the perfect fit here,” Ollivander mused as he measured. But Albert began to question things even further when the tape measure attempted to gauge the distance between his nostrils.

Swatting the measure away, Albert approached the counter.

Ollivander took a wand off the shelf, “Holly with a phoenix feather core. Seven inches. Quite pliant.”

As Albert reached out, Ollivander pulled it back.

“Try this one. Made of white pine with a unicorn hair core. Eight and a half inches. Remarkably flexible.”

Albert gave it a wave. Nothing.

After multiple attempts, with some resulting in shattered vases that startled Herbert, Ollivander grinned, “I like a choosy customer.” He handed another, “Redwood with a phoenix feather core. Nine inches. Quite flexible.”

Taking the wand, Albert felt a warm sensation. With a slight tap, the wand’s tip emitted a red spark, blossoming like fireworks in the shop.

“That’s the one,” Ollivander carefully boxed the wand, “Legend says that redwood wands bring luck to their bearer.”

“Do you believe that?” Albert queried.

“Not exactly. I believe redwood wands are drawn to certain wizards. These wizards inherently possess the ability to turn dire situations around.”

“So, it’s not that redwood brings luck, but rather its wielder earns the wand its reputation?” Albert raised an eyebrow.

“You could say that,” Ollivander nodded, “That will be 10 Galleons. Thank you for your patronage.”