"Are you here to buy Hogwarts school uniforms, dear?"
As soon as Albert stepped into the tailor shop, a short and plump witch greeted him with a warm smile.
"Yes, Madam," Albert nodded politely. "Thank you for your help."
"What a well-mannered young man. Come along, let me take your measurements."
With a beckoning motion, Madam Malkin summoned a tape measure, pins, and scissors, which floated over and immediately began taking Albert's measurements on their own. Herb stood there, stunned by the sight.
The process of tailoring custom robes took nearly half an hour. When they were done, Madam Malkin told them they could return to pick up the finished clothes after the rest of their shopping.
"Madam, in addition to the school uniforms, I'd like to order a black pointed hat and a plain black cloak—both in my size, but without a name tag. And please package them separately," Albert added after straightening his slightly rumpled clothes.
"A black pointed hat and a plain cloak?" Madam Malkin asked, glancing at Herb in confusion.
"Yes," Herb confirmed with a nod. He knew Albert was preparing a gift for Nia.
Madam Malkin only shrugged and noted down the request. After prepaying a Galleon, Albert and Herb left Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.
Their next stop was Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment, where Albert simply handed over the school supply list. Within minutes, Wiseacre fetched everything—brass scales, a telescope, and glass phials—and had them neatly wrapped.
With the shopkeeper's directions, they quickly found Potage's Cauldron Shop and purchased a standard pewter cauldron. Potage also pointed them toward the apothecary, where they collected the ingredients needed for Potions class.
The apothecary was, without question, the most unpleasant place they had visited so far. A nauseating stench hung in the air—almost as though it were deliberately crafted to drive away customers. Shelves were lined with jars of dried roots, herbs, and brightly colored powders. From the ceiling hung bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and furry claws.
How could any wizard brew these revolting things into potions and drink them?
Herb shuddered, especially after spotting a jar filled with slugs. His confidence in sending Albert to Hogwarts wavered more than ever.
Beside the potion ingredients, Albert also purchased several tools used in brewing. After paying, he gently pulled the visibly disturbed Herb out of the apothecary.
"Albert, how about we just… give up?" Herb said gravely as they walked away. "We could send you to Eton College instead."
Albert's face twitched slightly. He shook his head.
"The more I think about it, the more absurd this all seems. Maybe Daisy was right," Herb muttered, looking at his son with a complex expression.
"We still need books, a wand, and an owl," Albert said calmly. "At least don't make a decision before you understand the wizarding world properly."
"…Alright," Herb sighed. He was clearly uneasy but still nodded.
At Flourish and Blotts, Albert bought all the required textbooks—and a few extra volumes on wizarding history. He would've liked to stay longer, but time was short. Instead, he requested a book catalogue from the shopkeeper so he could order additional books by owl later.
Next, at a stationery shop beside Quality Quidditch Supplies, they bought large quantities of parchment, quills, and ink.
With the shop owner's enthusiastic directions, they easily found Eeylops Owl Emporium on the north side of Diagon Alley. Dozens of owls perched outside in cages, turning their heads to observe the newcomers. Albert chose an owl—after all, without one, he wouldn't be able to write home. Herb bought a bag of owl treats and nuts as well.
Pushing the trolley, Herb scratched off each purchased item on the list. Only one remained: the wand.
Ollivander's Wand Shop was a small, shabby-looking shop on the south side of Diagon Alley, its peeling sign barely readable. They learned its location from the witch selling owls.
As Albert pushed open the door, a tinkling bell rang. The shop was narrow and empty, save for a single long bench.
Herb squeezed the trolley inside; it nearly filled the entire shop. He sat down and unwrapped a pumpkin pasty he had bought from a nearby stall. There were also bags of sweets on the trolley—gifts for Nia. Albert held a pumpkin pasty too; he was starving.
"Is anyone here?" he called.
"Good afternoon," came a soft voice. Mr. Ollivander emerged silently from the back room.
"Hello, sir, I'd like to buy—" Albert began, setting down his pastry.
"A wand," Ollivander finished with a knowing smile. "A first-year Hogwarts student, I presume."
"Yes, sir."
"And your name?" Ollivander asked. At Albert's puzzled look, he added, "The Ministry of Magic requires a record of every witch and wizard I sell a wand to."
"Albert Anderson."
"Very well, Mr. Anderson." Ollivander produced a tape measure. "Which is your dominant hand?"
"Right," Albert replied, raising his arm.
The measuring began—shoulder to fingertip, wrist to elbow. The process was so meticulous that both father and son wondered if they were buying a wand or a suit of robes. The enchanted tape measure even began measuring the space between Albert's nostrils.
Albert gently pushed it aside and walked to the counter just as Ollivander retrieved a wand box.
"Holly and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite supple," he said—but before Albert could touch it, he took it away.
"Not that one. Try this—ash wood, unicorn hair, eight and a half inches. Good springiness."
Albert gave it a wave. Nothing.
"Not a match," Ollivander murmured. "Next…"
One wand after another. Some did nothing. One blew a vase to pieces, making Herb jump out of his seat.
"I do enjoy particular customers," Ollivander chuckled, bringing over another pile. "Red cedar and phoenix feather. Nine inches. Excellent resilience."
Albert took the wand. Warmth spread from his fingertips. He gave it a gentle flick—red sparks shot from the tip and burst like fireworks.
"That's the one," Ollivander said cheerfully, boxing it up. "They say red cedar wands bring their owners good fortune."
"Do you believe that?" Albert asked dryly.
"No," Ollivander said thoughtfully. "I believe red cedar chooses witches and wizards who already have the ability to survive danger—and thus build their own reputation for luck."
"So it's not the wand that brings luck, but the wizard?" Albert raised an eyebrow.
"You might say that," Ollivander smiled. "Ten Galleons, please. And thank you for your patronage."