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Hagrid led Aiden and Harry through the bustling streets of London, their little group attracting more than a few curious glances. With Hagrid towering above the crowd and Aiden's striking heterochromatic eyes, they were hardly inconspicuous.
Hagrid, however, paid no mind to the stares. Aiden, feeling a bit self-conscious, discreetly cast a Confundus Charm and snapped his fingers, subtly nudging the minds of those nearby. The passers-by, who had been openly gawking, suddenly lost all interest, turning away as if nothing unusual had happened.
Harry's eyes widened in amazement. "Wow, that's brilliant! Aiden, how did you do that?"
Aiden smiled, feigning modesty. "A bit of talent and a lot of practice."
Hagrid, overhearing, looked slightly uneasy, as if wanting to say something but thinking better of it. "Well, Harry, Hogwarts has a wonderful headmaster. If you work hard, you'll learn all sorts of things in time."
With Hagrid's awkward encouragement, Harry's excitement only grew. Aiden, meanwhile, couldn't help but find the whole situation darkly amusing.
They soon reached the Leaky Cauldron. The pub was dim and filled with the scent of old wood and pipe smoke. A few elderly witches sat in a corner, sipping sherry, while a young wizard in a tall hat chatted with Tom, the barman. Tom, bald and walnut-faced, looked up as they entered, and the low hum of conversation fell silent.
"Ah, Hagrid! The usual?" Tom called out, reaching for a glass.
"Not today, Tom. I'm on official business. Dumbledore's asked me to bring young Harry and young Aiden to get their school things," Hagrid replied, his voice booming with pride.
"Bless my soul, it's Harry Potter!" Tom exclaimed, and the entire pub seemed to freeze. All eyes turned to Harry, and a hush fell over the room.
"Welcome back, Mr. Potter," someone whispered.
Harry looked overwhelmed as people crowded around, eager to shake his hand. Aiden, standing slightly apart, watched the scene unfold. He saw the glow of emotions swirling around the patrons—excitement, joy, gratitude, but also, curiously, a flicker of resentment.
He focused on the source: a frail-looking young man with a thick turban wrapped around his head, standing just outside the circle of admirers. "Interesting," Aiden thought, a smirk playing on his lips. "A fateful encounter, perhaps?"
With a gentle wave of his hand, Aiden sent a wave of soothing magic through the crowd, calming their excitement and allowing the timid young man to approach Harry.
"This is Professor Quirrell, Harry," Hagrid said, introducing the man. "He'll be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."
"P-P-Potter," Quirrell stammered, "C-can't t-tell you h-how p-pleased I a-am to m-meet you."
He extended his hand, then hesitated. Sensing the moment, Aiden subtly influenced Harry, nudging him to complete the handshake.
The instant their palms touched, there was a faint sizzling sound. Both Harry and Quirrell recoiled, shaking their hands in surprise.
"What was that?" Harry asked, confused.
"T-too hot t-today, p-probably s-static e-electricity. Y-you know, I u-used to s-study M-Muggle s-studies. I-it's a n-natural p-phenomenon," Quirrell stammered, beads of sweat forming on his brow as he tucked his hand beneath his robes.
Aiden, having seen enough, decided to move things along. "It's getting late. We should get on with our shopping," he said, giving Quirrell a polite exit.
The three of them made their way to the back of the pub, stopping in front of a familiar rubbish bin. Hagrid tapped the bricks above it with his pink umbrella, muttering, "Three up… two across… right, stand back, Harry."
The bricks trembled, writhing and shifting until a large archway appeared, revealing the winding, cobblestone street of Diagon Alley.
"Welcome to Diagon Alley," Hagrid announced, gesturing grandly.
Harry's eyes widened in wonder as he took in the dazzling array of shops and magical wares. The young savior had truly entered the world of magic, and every sight seemed to captivate him.
Hagrid led them first to Gringotts, where Harry withdrew gold from his vault and Hagrid collected a mysterious package—the Philosopher's Stone, though neither boy knew it at the time. After purchasing textbooks, robes, and a cauldron, they made their way to Ollivanders, the legendary wand shop.
"Sorry, Aiden, could you take Harry to Ollivanders? I've got a bit of business to attend to," Hagrid said, hurrying off down the street.
Aiden and Harry entered the shop together. The bell above the door chimed, and a soft voice greeted them from the shadows.
"Good afternoon," said Mr. Ollivander, emerging from between the shelves. His silvery eyes seemed to see straight through them.
Aiden had already sensed the old wandmaker's presence, but Harry jumped in surprise.
"I've been wondering when I'd see you, Mr. Potter. Your eyes are just like your mother's. She came here years ago for a willow wand, ten and a quarter inches. Your father, a mahogany, eleven inches, excellent for Transfiguration."
He turned to Aiden. "And you, Mr. Prewett, your family's eyes are quite unforgettable. The wand you carry is your father's—blackthorn, ten and a half inches. It's loyal to him, but its harmony with you isn't perfect. The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Prewett. You'll need a new one."
Aiden pulled out his wand, gave it a thoughtful look, and cast a quick Cleaning Charm on himself. "It works well enough. I doubt my father would mind."
Somewhere, the spirit of Gideon Prewett rolled his eyes from the beyond. "Just use it. You're the only one in the family who can, anyway."
Mr. Ollivander smiled, as if hearing the unspoken words. "Now, who's first?"
"Let him go first," Aiden said, gesturing to Harry.
Harry stepped forward, and after several attempts, was finally matched with a holly wand, eleven inches, phoenix feather core. The moment he held it, golden sparks danced from the tip.
"Curious… very curious," Mr. Ollivander murmured, but said no more.
"Now, Mr. Prewett," he said, measuring Aiden's arm with a tape that moved on its own.
"Try this—red oak, kneazle whisker," Ollivander offered.
Aiden waved the wand, managing a Levitation Charm, but the magic felt off, awkward, and forced.
"No, not quite. Try this one—hornbeam, dragon heartstring. A powerful combination, well-suited to your family's bloodline."
Aiden tried again, but the result was still unsatisfactory.
To save time, Aiden spoke up. "Mr. Ollivander, my talents are rather unique—particularly when it comes to the mind."
"Ding. 'Rather unique' is putting it mildly…" the system chimed in his mind.
"Quiet," Aiden muttered, pinching the gem around his neck.
Mr. Ollivander's eyes sparkled. "Ah, I see. Black walnut, dragon nerve, eleven inches—a marvelous pairing."
He handed Aiden the wand, and as soon as Aiden gripped it, he felt a surge of power. The wand felt like an extension of his own will, every movement smooth and effortless.
"Seven Galleons each, please," Ollivander said, and both boys paid.
"The owners of such wands generally possess remarkable insight. Mr. Potter, Mr. Prewett, I expect extraordinary things from you both," Ollivander said as they turned to leave.
Aiden smiled wryly. "He says that to every young wizard, doesn't he?" he whispered to Harry.
Harry grinned, clutching his new wand. Together, they stepped back into the sunlight, ready to find Hagrid and continue their journey into the magical world.
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