Welcome to Diagon Alley – Part 5

Meanwhile, in a quieter corner of the Magical Menagerie, Daphne walked alongside her mother, Rosa Greengrass, her expression unimpressed as they passed cages and enclosures filled with all manner of magical creatures.

She'd seen the sleek black cats with jeweled eyes, the glitter-feathered ravens, even the occasional puffing miniature dragon. But none of them stirred any interest in her.

The cats, in particular, annoyed her. Too aloof. Too... obvious.

The snakes were more Pansy's style—especially after she saw one actually slither up to her friend and curl around her wrist like it had chosen her. Typical.

Badgers, kneazles, even a fanged rabbit—none of them felt right.

Rosa gave her daughter a knowing side glance. "So? Picked one?"

"No, Mother," Daphne said with a tired sigh, brushing her hair back behind her ear.

Her eyes wandered across the shop—until they landed on a familiar group in the far corner.

Harry Potter. Talking with Blaise and Theo. She noticed Hedwig perched nearby, calmly preening her feathers like a queen who knew her worth.

Daphne tilted her head slightly. "…Where are the rest of the snowy owls?"

A nearby shopkeeper blinked, surprised by the sudden question. "Ah—this way, young miss."

Daphne smirked faintly. "Very well. Let's go, Mother."

Rosa gave an exasperated smile, following her. "This girl… honestly."

Daphne walked ahead with the shop worker, her steps graceful and deliberate. Rosa followed behind, arms lightly crossed as she observed her daughter with a sigh that spoke volumes.

"Why are you doing this?" Rosa asked, her voice half-weary, half-amused.

Daphne glanced back at her, lips curled into a familiar smirk—the same one Rosa often flashed at Tristan when she was about to push his buttons.

"What do you ever so mean, Mother?" she replied, feigning innocence with expert precision.

Rosa narrowed her eyes slightly, the corner of her mouth twitching. "I saw you looking at Harry's owl."

Daphne shrugged, but that smirk remained. "So?"

Rosa stopped walking for a moment, her tone wry. "Forget it. You're your father's daughter through and through."

Daphne chuckled softly, brushing her hair back with a touch of dramatic flair. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

And with that, they found it—another snowy owl.

Perched elegantly on a brass stand, its feathers were pristine white with a faint silver shimmer along the tips of its wings. Its amber eyes locked onto Daphne the moment she entered the room, intelligent and oddly curious.

The shopkeeper blinked in surprise. "Huh. That's strange. This one doesn't usually warm up to anyone. He's Hedwig's clutchmate, actually. Brother, if you're being specific."

Daphne's eyes lit up with delight, and her grin grew wickedly pleased. "Oh, I like him already."

She extended her arm slightly. The owl shifted... then hopped onto her wrist with barely a flutter, its gaze never leaving hers.

"I'll take him," Daphne said immediately, her voice light but decisive. "And I'll name him… Gabriel."

Rosa, who had just caught up, froze.

Gabriel.

Her eyes narrowed, a hint of sweat on her temple. "Gabriel, as in the Archangel?"

Daphne gave her a too-sweet smile. "Mmm, maybe. Or maybe because the name means 'Strength of God.' Either way… don't worry, Mother. It's just a name."

Rosa exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Right. Just a name. And the fact your owl is the brother of Harry Potter's? Also just coincidence, I assume?"

Daphne's smirk turned sly. "Of course, Mother. Complete coincidence."

And with that, she turned on her heel, owl perched proudly on her arm, walking with the confidence of a girl who already saw the future unfolding exactly the way she wanted.

Rosa stared after her. "Merlin help him. The poor boy has no idea what's coming."

Dudley stood inside Madam Malkin's shop, arms outstretched as the measuring tape zipped around him. He was getting his Hogwarts uniform fitted, and while he was still processing everything, there was no denying it: the magical world was kind of awesome.

Hagrid had left earlier to run an errand for Dumbledore, so Dudley was left with his parents—for better or worse.

Vernon looked like he was trying to disappear. He hovered near the door, flinching every time a cauldron clanged or a floating spool of thread passed by. The man had the air of someone expecting to be hexed at any second.

Petunia, however, was… calm.

She wasn't cowering, wasn't glaring at the witches and wizards walking by. In fact, there was the faintest smile on her lips. As if—just maybe—some small part of her missed this world. As if it reminded her of someone she hadn't let herself think about in a long time.

Her eyes drifted to a nearby fitting area—then stopped.

There, laughing beside her own child, was a red-haired girl with green eyes. The sound of her laugh… it was just like hers.

Petunia blinked, her jaw tightening. A frown crept across her face, subtle but sharp.

She said nothing.

Meanwhile, Dudley glanced to his left. A boy roughly his age was getting measured beside him. He was a bit chubby like Dudley, with messy dirty blond hair and gentle green eyes. A rather large toad sat in his arms, and on his chest was pinned a brooch shaped like a black crow.

[Insert image: Young Neville Longbottom]

Next to the boy stood a tall, stern-looking man. He had sharp features, gray hair slicked back, and wore an elegant—if slightly outdated—wizard's suit. His eyes were cold and calculating, like he was constantly judging everything around him.

[Insert image: Neville's great-uncle Algie, regal but slightly ominous]

Something about the man made Dudley's stomach twist.

Neville, noticing Dudley's stare, gave a shy smile and held out his hand. "Hi there."

Dudley looked at the other boy's outstretched hand and, after a beat, took it.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Dudley."

His handshake was a bit awkward—too strong, too quick—but sincere. The boy might not have had the best manners (years of being spoiled will do that), but Petunia had at least tried to teach him the basics. Table etiquette, polite greetings, and how not to chew with your mouth open. Some of it had stuck. Sort of.

Neville smiled faintly. "Neville. Neville Longbottom."

"Longbottom?" Dudley echoed, raising an eyebrow. "That's… huh."

Neville tensed slightly—used to people making fun of his last name—but Dudley didn't follow up with a joke. Instead, he just nodded, like he was filing the name away for later.

From behind Neville, his great-uncle cleared his throat sharply, his gaze flicking between the two boys.

Dudley felt a chill—not from magic, but from the sheer disapproval radiating off the older man. He stood stiff as a board, like he'd walked straight out of a history book.

Neville glanced back at him, then whispered under his breath, "That's Uncle Algie. He's... intense."

Dudley leaned slightly closer. "He looks like he eats first-years."

Neville let out a quiet snort of laughter, then quickly tried to cover it up with a cough as Algie glanced their way again.

"So… first year too?" Dudley asked.

Neville nodded. "Yeah. You?"

"Yep," Dudley said, then paused. "Didn't think I'd ever be going to a place like this, to be honest."

Neville gave him a strange look—curious, but not unkind. "Me neither."

They stood in silence for a moment as the measuring tapes resumed dancing around them.

Then Neville added softly, "But I think it might be nice. Magic, I mean."

Dudley looked around the shop—at the enchanted mannequins, the floating fabrics, the soft chime of spell-laced needles—and, surprisingly, nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "It might be."

Petunia suddenly stiffened, her eyes narrowing as recognition sparked.

"Wait… Longbottom?" she said, her voice more curious than accusing. "By any chance, are you the son of Alice?"

Neville blinked in surprise, while Algie's eyes snapped to her sharply.

"And what business do you have with my nephew?" Algie asked, his tone cold and defensive, with a protective edge sharpened by years of pain.

Petunia didn't flinch. She met his gaze, chin lifted—proper, controlled, but not rude.

"My sister knew her," she said quietly. "Lily. Lily Evans."

That name landed like a spell between them.

Algie stared at her more carefully now, his brows furrowing as he studied her face—the faded echoes of Lily's features reflected in Petunia's aging expressions.

"And you would be?" he asked, voice tight.

"Petunia Dursley," she said, a little sharper this time. "Formerly Evans."

Neville's eyes widened a little as he looked between them.

Algie was silent for a moment, as if judging something older than just words—memories, history, reputation. Finally, he gave a small nod, slow and deliberate.

"Lily Evans," he murmured. "One of the best of her year. A damn shame. She and Alice were… close."

Petunia's lips thinned slightly. "Yes. They were."

There was something unspoken between her words. A lingering tension. Regret, maybe. Jealousy buried under years of bitterness. Or something deeper—grief too long left unaddressed.

Neville, feeling the awkward silence, fidgeted slightly.

"Um," he began, "did… did you know my mum well?"

Petunia didn't look at him immediately. When she finally did, her expression had softened, just a fraction.

"She was kind," she said simply. "Braver than I gave her credit for. Like Lily."

Neville's mouth twitched, as if he wasn't sure whether to smile or bow his head.

Dudley glanced at his mother, then at Neville, and then said, "Your mum's a war hero, right?"

Neville gave a small nod. "She and Dad both. They… they fought You-Know-Who."

Petunia's lips thinned again, but this time, it wasn't distaste—it was pain. Quiet. Private. She didn't say anything more, and Algie didn't press her.

Instead, the older wizard gave a grunt. "Well. The past is the past. Let's not stand around clogging the shop."

He looked at Neville. "You're done here, lad. Come. We still need to get your wand."

Neville gave Dudley a small smile. "Nice meeting you."

"You too," Dudley replied.

Petunia watched them go, her thoughts elsewhere—on a red-haired sister, a green flash, and names like Alice Longbottom that pulled too many ghosts out of the dark.

Meanwhile in a different place

At Flourish & Botts, with all the Slytherin Tristan told Harry to get whatever he wanted and charge it to his account while he talked to the other Guardian. So Harry bought every book on the school list, plus every book that the store owner recommended that might conceivably help a Muggle-raised student adapt to Hogwarts. He also bought every single book mentioning the Boy-Who-Lived that looked even halfway reliable. He wanted to see what world say's about him

Normally, Harry wouldn't be so interested in all of this, but after all the clans, him being an heir to the house of Hydra and Sin Weapons, let's say he got into magical history a bit.

Now he wanted to know, about everything that was happening in this strange world, he even picked out a book on the other Magical Schools and Magical law

He then followed Theo and set up an Owl Post account.

As Harry want back to pick more book, one that said "The True Story of Salazar Slytherin" which he was sure probably a lie, his hand meet a girl as he looked at her.

She had a round face, maybe cute, black untamed hair, brown eyes and a buck teeth, by what she was wearing she was clearly a Muggle born witch

[Insert image of Hermione here]

Hermione blinked up at the boy she had just accidentally bumped hands with over the same book. He looked her age, maybe a little scruffy, but there was something sharp in his green eyes. Like he was already far older than he should be.

"Oh! Sorry," she said quickly, pulling her hand back from The True Story of Salazar Slytherin. "I didn't mean to grab it at the same time."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "It's fine. You can take it," he said, a bit surprised by how fast she spoke.

"No, no, it's alright," she insisted, hands behind her back now. "Actually, I've already got three books on the Founders, and I suppose one more would be excessive. Are you studying the Founders too?"

Harry glanced at the cover, then back at her. "Sort of. Just trying to understand things better. The magical world's a bit… complicated."

She smiled, wide and a bit awkward. "Tell me about it. I only just got my letter, and I've been reading everything I can find. I'm Hermione Granger, by the way."

"Harry," he said simply, shaking her hand.

She froze for half a second.

"…Potter?"

He nodded.

"Oh." A long pause. "That explains the security near the entrance and the two kids whispering behind the shelves."

Harry gave a small, amused sigh. "Guess I'm not very good at being subtle."

"No," Hermione said honestly, then blinked. "Oh! I mean—not in a bad way! Just—you're quite famous, so I suppose it's hard to be subtle."

He laughed quietly. "Don't worry, I'm getting used to that."

From behind a stack of shelves, Theo's voice called, "Oi, Harry, don't let book girl guilt you into giving up the good ones!"

Hermione looked offended. "I didn't guilt anyone! We just bumped hands."

"You bumped hands with Harry Potter," Theo called back smugly. "That's a first-year accomplishment worthy of being written down."

Harry rolled his eyes but was smiling.

Hermione frowned in confusion. "Is he always like that?"

"Only when he's not being sarcastic," Harry said.

Theo peeked around the shelves with a smirk. "I like her. She's got that 'I'll-be-head-girl-in-three-years' look."

Hermione flushed bright red. "That's not—I mean—I don't plan—well, maybe eventually—"

Harry raised the book again. "Want to read it together?"

She blinked again. "Wait—really?"

"Sure," Harry said, shrugging. "You've already read three founder books, right? Might be fun to compare."

Hermione gave the biggest, most delighted smile yet. "Okay. Yes. That sounds—great."

From the back, Rosa (who had been quietly tailing them in protective mode) looked over at Tristan and whispered, "...Did we just witness Harry Potter voluntarily make a friend?"

Tristan, watching the whole thing with crossed arms and an amused expression, muttered, "Don't ruin the moment."

Meanwhile, in Ollivanders, things had taken a… chaotic turn.

Dudley Dursley was standing awkwardly on the fitting platform, surrounded by a mess of flying parchment, cracked shelves, and the sound of yet another wand exploding in a puff of smoke.

Ollivander, ever so calm despite the destruction in his shop, raised a brow and muttered,

"Took a week to find a wand for a Crup once. This might beat the record."

Boom!

One wand exploded in blue sparks.

"Too wild," Ollivander murmured, brushing soot from his sleeve.

ZAP!

Another wand shot lightning across the ceiling, nearly singeing Hagrid's beard.

"Too strong," Ollivander winced.

SLAP!

The next wand physically slapped Dudley on the cheek.

He blinked. "It… slapped me?"

His magical badger, still proudly going by Gohan Jr., squeaked and thumped a paw against the ground, barely holding in what might've been a giggle. Hagrid had the good sense to pretend he didn't see it.

Ollivander sighed, muttering something about "wand temperament" and "nontraditional lineage" before pulling out another slender box.

"At last," he whispered. "This one… has been waiting."

He opened the case with a theatrical flair.

"Thunderbird feather, drywood, twelve and a quarter inches. Curious combination."

Dudley hesitated—understandably—before picking it up.

There was a gentle hum in the air. Warmth spread through his fingers. A few golden sparks flared at the tip—no explosions, no slaps, no judgment.

Ollivander smiled.

"Yes… this will do."

Dudley stared at the wand. Then at Gohan Jr., who seemed impressed.

"Let's just hope it doesn't bite next."

Dudley gave the wand an uncertain wave.

At first… nothing.

Then, spark.

A gentle crackle of golden light flickered from the tip—like a tiny Thunderbird winging through the air. A soft hum followed, not loud or dramatic, but right. The magic resonated—not just in the wand, but in Dudley himself. He stared at it, then at his hand, as if unsure if this really just happened.

Ollivander's eyes twinkled.

"Perfect," he whispered with satisfaction.

Hagrid grinned broadly.

"Knew he had a bit of spark in him!"

Vernon looked like he was going to pass out.

And Petunia… Petunia froze.

It hit her all at once.

That sound—the soft, musical thrum of magic—and the look on her son's face. It wasn't fear. It wasn't confusion. It was… wonder.

Her breath caught.

Something she thought long buried stirred within her. Memories—hidden, suppressed, folded away like fragile old letters—surfaced. A girl once enchanted by fairy tales and potions, who used to peek over Lily's shoulder while she practiced wand movements with a stick in the garden.

For a brief second, the bitterness melted away.

She saw not just her son—but herself again. The girl who had wanted to believe.

Her love for magic didn't return with a bang or a wand. It returned with a flicker. A light. A heartbeat.

…Of course, spending an entire day surrounded by giants, owls, spellbooks, and a wand that literally slapped her son probably helped push things along too.

To be continued

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