Chapter 19 — Hogwarts' Shopping
The next morning, I woke up feeling oddly energized — the kind of excitement that sits in your chest and refuses to quiet down. Today was the day.
I went through my usual routine — a quick wash, combed my hair , and dressed in my neatest clothes. Downstairs, the house was unusually silent. Everyone sat at the breakfast table, pretending to eat, but I could tell no one was really focused on the food.
Mum kept glancing at the clock. Dad sipped his tea like it was a life-saving potion. Harry and Dudley were practically bouncing in their chairs.
After a few moments, I said quietly, "She'll be here any moment now."
And almost on cue, there was a crisp, polite *knock* at the door.
Mum jumped slightly, then hurried to answer it. Standing on the doorstep was Professor McGonagall — looking exactly as she had yesterday, except perhaps with a softer expression this time. Her green robes were immaculate, and her square spectacles glinted in the morning light.
"Good morning, Mrs. Dursley," she said with a small smile. "I trust you all are well?"
"We're fine, Professor," Mum said, clearly trying not to sound nervous. "Please, come in."
McGonagall stepped inside, taking in the tidy living room with approving eyes. "I must say, your home is quite pleasant." Then her eyes flicked toward me. "And you, Mr. Dursley — ready for a bit of shopping, I presume?"
I nodded, trying to sound calm. "Yes, Professor."
"Excellent. Then we'd best be off. We've a fair bit to buy, and Diagon Alley can get… busy."
She turned to Mum and added, "Don't worry, Mrs. Dursley. I'll see him safely back."
Mum smiled nervously, while Dad muttered something about "wizard shopping lists" under his breath. Harry looked both envious and thrilled. Dudley just waved, grinning.
And just like that, I was off — walking beside Professor McGonagall, my stomach fluttering with excitement and nerves all at once.
We reached the Leaky Cauldron just before noon. The pub was dimly lit and smelled faintly of butterbeer and wood polish. Tom, the barman, gave us a nod.
"Good day, Professor," he greeted. "And this must be your new student?"
"Indeed," McGonagall replied briskly. "First year. Arthur Dursley."
Tom smiled at me. "Pleasure, lad. Big day, eh?"
I nodded, and he chuckled knowingly before leading us to the brick wall in the courtyard. McGonagall drew her wand, tapped the bricks, and the wall folded back with a ripple of magic.
Even though I'd seen it before, my breath caught again.
Diagon Alley was bustling — witches and wizards everywhere, children tugging at robes, owls hooting, shop signs glittering in the sunlight. It was alive with magic.
"Let's start with your essentials," McGonagall said, scanning the list in her hand. "Robes first."
We went into Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. A plump, friendly witch greeted us immediately.
"First-year, dear?" she asked, smiling at me.
"Yes, ma'am," I replied.
"Up on the stool, then. Arms out, please."
She began measuring me with a tape that seemed to move all on its own. McGonagall chatted politely with her, occasionally glancing my way to check the fit.
"Hmm, tall for your age," Madam Malkin noted. "Good posture, too. Hogwarts will like that."
"I hope so," I said, trying not to sneeze as the tape tickled my ear.
She chuckled. "You'll do fine, dear. Everyone's nervous their first year."
Within minutes, she had the robes sorted — plain black with a fine lining that shimmered faintly under light. She handed me a parcel with a warm smile. "All done. Next!"
From there, we stopped by the apothecary. The place smelled of herbs, potion ingredients, and something vaguely like old socks. I wrinkled my nose as we passed jars filled with beetle eyes, dried roots, and — disturbingly — pickled something that looked suspiciously like a lizard tail.
McGonagall helped me select the basics: a pewter cauldron (size two), brass scales, a set of glass phials, and a kit of standard potion ingredients.
The shopkeeper, a thin wizard with magnifying glasses strapped to his forehead, eyed me curiously. "First year?"
"Yes," I said.
"Good luck, lad. Mind the boomslang skin — expensive stuff."
McGonagall cleared her throat lightly. "He won't be handling that until fourth year, I should hope."
I smiled awkwardly, clutching the parcel of ingredients as we left.
Next came the shop for telescopes and brass scales. It was crowded, full of parents haggling and children pointing at shiny objects. I bought the brass telescope from the list and a small, durable scale that McGonagall approved with a nod.
After that, we stopped by Flourish and Blotts just to double-check the books, though I already owned most of them. The sight of shelves upon shelves of magical tomes still made my fingers itch to read more.
McGonagall caught the look in my eyes and smiled faintly. "A reader, are you? Good. Hogwarts could do with a few more of those."
Finally, she said, "Now for the most important thing — your wand."
I swallowed, nerves flaring again.
We stepped into Ollivander's Wand Shop. The place was small and dusty, the air thick with the scent of old wood and magic.
A tall, thin man appeared from behind a stack of boxes, his pale eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Ah. Professor McGonagall," he said softly. "Eleven inches, fir wood, dragon heartstring. A fine wand, still performing well, I trust?"
McGonagall inclined her head. "Perfectly."
"And this must be young Mr. Dursley." He stepped closer, peering at me with unsettling intensity. "Yes… I wondered when I'd be seeing you."
"You… did?" I asked uncertainly.
"Oh, yes. Every wand I sell remembers its master — and sometimes, its future ones."
He turned, scanning the stacks. "Let's see… something balanced. Try this — willow and unicorn hair, ten and a half inches, supple."
I took it, gave it a small wave, and — nothing. Not even a spark.
He snatched it back gently. "No, no, not that one. Perhaps… ash and phoenix feather?"
That one let out a small puff of smoke. McGonagall raised an eyebrow. Ollivander didn't seem surprised.
"Hmm. Curious. Try this one — mahogany and dragon heartstring, eleven inches."
The wand vibrated faintly in my hand, but then went still.
"No. Close, but not quite."
I tried another. And another. Seven wands later, Ollivander was muttering to himself. "Tricky, tricky customer…"
Then he paused. His gaze sharpened. "Wait. I wonder…"
He disappeared into the back, returning with a long, narrow box. "This one's… rather special. Try this."
End of Chapter 19 — Hogwarts' Shopping