After leaving Gringotts, Hagrid suggested taking Harry to purchase the items listed in his acceptance letter.
As they passed a sweet shop, Hagrid bought two ice creams and handed Harry one topped with raspberry and chocolate sauce. Eating as they walked, they made their way to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.
Madam Malkin was a plump, kind-looking witch with a warm smile. When she saw Harry, she cheerfully welcomed him into the shop.
Harry quickly finished his ice cream and followed Madam Malkin into the store.
"Dear, you're here for your Hogwarts robes, aren't you? We have many styles, and we can customize them to your needs," she explained enthusiastically. "Oh, there's already a young witch inside trying on robes. I think you two will get along well."
Following her gesture, Harry spotted a bushy-haired girl standing on a stool while a witch pinned up her robes.
Madam Malkin guided Harry to stand beside the girl, and as he approached, the girl turned to face him.
"Oh, are you a new student at Hogwarts too?" she asked, tilting her head with an air of pride—a different sort of pride from Cassandra's. Cassandra's came from her aristocratic lineage, but this girl's demeanor reminded Harry of a top student from his Muggle school.
It was the pride of an academic overachiever.
Yet, her prominent front teeth amusingly reminded Harry of the dormice Hagrid had in his pocket.
"Yes," Harry responded with a faint smile.
Hermione also took note of Harry's attire—not its worn appearance but the unmistakable Muggle style.
"Are you from a Muggle family too?" Hermione's tone became more friendly.
"Sort of," Harry replied.
Hermione nodded knowingly.
"Hermione Granger," she said, extending her hand. "Pleased to meet you."
"Harry, Harry Potter." Harry extended his hand and shook hers.
At his introduction, Hermione's expression shifted to astonishment.
"My goodness, is it really you?" she exclaimed. "I know all about you, of course. I bought a few extra reference books for light reading—Modern Magical History, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century. They all mention you prominently."
Harry thought Hermione might not be the kind of person he'd naturally get along with—she seemed like the archetypal Ravenclaw.
"A famous person like you shouldn’t be living in the Muggle world. Why did you tell me you're from a Muggle family?" Hermione asked, frowning.
"You see, my parents were killed by Voldemort when I was very young," Harry explained quietly. "I was raised by my aunt and only recently learned about magic."
"Oh, I’m so sorry," Hermione said, biting her lip. "I truly didn’t know."
"It’s fine," Harry said with a smile. "After all, you couldn’t have known."
A stern voice interrupted. Harry turned to see a witch in a green robe and glasses.
"Professor McGonagall!" Hermione exclaimed, clearly delighted to see her.
McGonagall smiled warmly at Hermione before turning her attention to Harry, her gaze meeting his emerald-green eyes.
"And this must be... Mr. Potter?" she said.
"Good day, Professor," Harry replied with a polite bow.
McGonagall inclined her head slightly, a wistful expression briefly crossing her face.
He reminds me of Lily, McGonagall thought, feeling pleased.
At that moment, Madam Malkin approached.
"If you don’t mind, ladies—and this young gentleman," Madam Malkin said, addressing Harry, "I need to start taking measurements."
"I’ll see you later, Harry," Hermione said as she stepped down. "See you at school."
"See you," Harry nodded. "Goodbye, Professor."
After being measured, Harry and Hagrid continued exploring Diagon Alley, purchasing everything on Harry’s school supply list.
Finally, they arrived at Ollivanders, the wand shop.
"Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC," Harry read aloud from the peeling gold lettering on the sign.
"Quite ancient, isn’t it?" Hagrid said, patting Harry on the shoulder. "I bought my wand here when I started at Hogwarts—just like nearly every student from the school."
Harry nodded in agreement. He himself had bought a wand here a century ago when the shop was run by Givens Ollivander, a slightly eccentric wizard.
Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches.
But where was that old wand now? Harry felt a need to track down his former companion.
The shop was small, containing only a single long bench.
Hagrid informed Harry he needed to step out briefly, leaving him alone in the shop.
He didn’t have to wait long before a soft voice greeted him.
"Hello," Harry replied, turning to face an elderly man.
If Harry guessed correctly, this man must be Givens Ollivander's son.
"Yes, yes indeed," the man said, nodding fervently. "I’ve been expecting you, Harry Potter. Your eyes are just like your mother’s. I remember when she came here to buy her first wand—it seems like only yesterday. Ten and a quarter inches, made of willow, swishy, and perfect for charms work."
"Your father’s wand was quite different," Ollivander continued. "Mahogany, eleven inches, pliable, excellent for Transfiguration. He was very fond of it... though, of course, it’s the wand that chooses the wizard."
Ollivander leaned in closer, studying Harry intently.
"And that scar of yours..." He reached out to brush aside Harry’s fringe, revealing the lightning-shaped scar. "I’m sorry to say it was caused by a wand I sold. Thirteen and a half inches, yew, with a phoenix feather core. A powerful wand—terribly powerful—that fell into the wrong hands."
Harry subtly stepped back, putting some space between himself and the overly inquisitive Ollivander.
"I forgive you," Harry said.
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