Once they were seated in the drawing room, Alvin found himself studying the man across from him.
Severus Snape.
Even in his previous life, Snape had been one of his favorite characters.
That certainly hadn’t been his first impression.
When Alvin had originally watched the films, Snape had seemed like little more than a bitter, unpleasant bully with a talent for terrorizing children.
Later, his perspective had changed.
The more Alvin learned about the man, the harder it became to dismiss him so simply.
He understood why Snape treated Harry the way he did.
James Potter’s son had inherited far more than his father’s eyes.
And beneath all the bitterness, resentment, and sharp edges lay a simple tragedy.
Snape had spent years carrying the guilt of helping cause the death of the woman he loved.
In a way, his final moments had felt less like punishment and more like release.
Naturally, Snape had no idea what was running through Alvin’s mind.
The Potions Master sat upright in his chair and began speaking in his usual measured tone.
“Mr.
Gaunt, your surname carries considerable significance within the wizarding world.” “The Gaunt family traces its lineage directly to Salazar Slytherin, founder of Slytherin House and one of the four founders of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” His dark eyes settled on Alvin.
“Though your family has declined considerably in recent generations, the blood of one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight still flows through your veins.” A brief pause followed.
“I trust you will conduct yourself in a manner worthy of that legacy.” Alvin nodded politely.
Inside, however, several pieces of information had already clicked into place.
Gaunt.
Of course.
Now he remembered.
Voldemort’s mother had been a Gaunt.
Which meant the family was connected to one of the Deathly Hallows.
The Resurrection Stone.
Before becoming one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes, it had been a treasured Gaunt heirloom passed down through the generations.
If history remained unchanged, it was probably still hidden somewhere in the ruins of the ancestral estate.
That was definitely worth investigating later.
The conversation gradually shifted toward the Wizarding World itself.
Snape explained the structure of magical society, the Ministry of Magic, Hogwarts, and the most important customs Alvin would need to know before beginning school.
An hour passed surprisingly quickly.
Eventually, Snape set down his teacup.
“That covers the essentials.” “The rest you will learn after arriving at Hogwarts.” His expression remained as unreadable as ever.
“Do you have any further questions?” “None, Professor.” Alvin smiled.
“Honestly, I’m looking forward to all of it.” For once, he wasn’t exaggerating.
Ever since receiving his Hogwarts acceptance letter, his curiosity had been growing by the day.
Now that the magical world was finally within reach, it was becoming difficult to think about anything else.
“That much is obvious.” A faint trace of amusement seemed to flicker across Snape’s face before vanishing.
“So eager.” Alvin wisely chose not to point out that most children would probably be excited after discovering magic was real.
Instead, Snape rose smoothly to his feet.
“Come with me.” Alvin stood.
“Where are we going?” “Diagon Alley.” The answer was immediate.
“You require school supplies.” Then Snape extended an arm.
“Hold on.” Alvin obediently took hold of his sleeve.
The next instant, the world twisted.
His stomach lurched violently.
The sensation was unlike anything he had ever experienced.
It felt as though an invisible giant had grabbed him by the chest and forced him through a rubber tube while simultaneously attempting to squeeze all the air from his lungs.
For one disorienting moment, up and down ceased to exist.
Then— Everything snapped back into place.
Alvin staggered slightly.
“…I think I understand why some people hate Apparition.” Snape looked entirely unaffected.
“You’ll survive.” Comforting.
Very comforting.
Alvin straightened and looked around.
Then his eyes widened.
Diagon Alley.
The famous heart of magical Britain stretched before him.
Uneven cobblestones lined the winding street.
Witches and wizards moved through the crowds in colorful robes.
Owls perched in shop windows.
Strange magical devices whirred and clicked behind glass displays.
Shop signs creaked overhead.
Voices, laughter, and snippets of conversation blended into a lively hum.
The entire street felt vibrant.
Alive.
Magical in a way no film could ever truly capture.
For a moment, Alvin simply stood there, taking it all in.
“First, Gringotts.” Snape had already started walking.
“The Gaunt family may have fallen from prominence, but centuries of accumulated wealth rarely disappear entirely.” “You should still possess sufficient inheritance to support your education.” Alvin followed.
A few minutes later, the towering white marble facade of Gringotts Wizarding Bank came into view.
The moment they stepped inside, Alvin found himself facing rows of goblins seated behind polished counters.
Each one wore an expression suggesting happiness was an unfortunate condition that happened only to other species.
Snape approached an empty desk.
“This is Alvin Gaunt,” he said.
“He wishes to access the Gaunt family vault.” The goblin examined Alvin carefully.
Then produced a silver bowl.
“A drop of blood.” Alvin complied.
Several tests followed.
The goblin’s expression remained unreadable throughout.
Finally, he nodded.
“Identity confirmed.” “The heir of House Gaunt is recognized.” “Follow me.” A few minutes later, Alvin found himself sitting inside one of Gringotts’ infamous carts.
The experience was unforgettable.
Primarily because it was trying very hard to kill him.
The cart shot through the underground tunnels at terrifying speed.
It plunged downward.
Shot upward.
Rounded impossible corners.
At one point, Alvin became reasonably certain he was experiencing several forms of death simultaneously.
By the time they reached their destination, he had developed a newfound respect for every wizard who used Gringotts regularly.
Vault 710 slowly opened before them.
The interior was spacious.
Not nearly as impressive as the legendary fortunes of old pure-blood families, but far from empty.
A respectable quantity of Galleons occupied one corner.
The Gaunts had clearly declined.
But they were not poor.
Not even close.
“Fifty to one hundred Galleons is sufficient for a Hogwarts student to live comfortably for a year,” Snape said.
Alvin nodded.
The amount before him was more than enough.
Of course, he already possessed several hundred Galleons obtained from the Magic Card System.
Producing them now would raise awkward questions, however.
So he simply filled a pouch from the family vault and followed Snape back to the surface.
Their next stop stood a short distance away.
A narrow shop squeezed between larger buildings.
Faded gold lettering hung above the entrance.
Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 B.C.
Alvin’s attention immediately sharpened.
A wand was the most important tool a wizard would ever possess.
Naturally, it was their first stop after Gringotts.
The moment he entered, he realized the interior was far larger than it appeared from outside.
Towering shelves stretched toward the ceiling.
Thousands upon thousands of wand boxes filled every available space.
The air smelled faintly of wood, dust, and old magic.
“Good morning, Mr.
Snape.” A soft voice drifted from somewhere among the shelves.
“It has been quite some time.” An elderly wizard emerged from the shadows.
His pale eyes gleamed with unsettling intensity.
“Let me think…
Birch wood.
Dragon heartstring.
Thirteen and a half inches.” He smiled.
“Still serving you faithfully, I assume?” Snape looked mildly annoyed.
“Correct.” Ollivander’s attention immediately shifted.
“This must be Mr.
Alvin Gaunt.” “I am here to assist him in purchasing a wand,” Snape said.
“Purchasing?” Ollivander looked genuinely scandalized.
“My dear Professor Snape.” “The wand chooses the wizard.” Snape closed his eyes briefly.
The expression carried the weary resignation of a man who had heard this sentence hundreds of times.
Alvin almost laughed.
Ollivander had already turned toward him.
“Mr.
Gaunt.” “Which is your wand hand?” “My right.” Immediately, a tape measure shot from Ollivander’s pocket.
Before Alvin could react, it began measuring him.
Arm length.
Finger span.
Shoulder width.
Distance between elbows.
Height.
Wrist circumference.
At some point, Alvin became convinced it was simply inventing measurements to keep itself occupied.
Finally, the tape measure snapped back into Ollivander’s hand.
“Excellent.” The wandmaker turned toward the shelves.
Then stopped.
A faint rattling echoed through the shop.
Everyone froze.
Another rattle followed.
Then another.
The sound spread across the room.
Dozens of wand boxes began shaking.
The shelves trembled.
Lids burst open.
Wands shot into the air.
One after another, they flew from their boxes and began circling Alvin like a flock of enchanted birds.
Silence descended.
Even Snape looked surprised.
“My dear Merlin…” For perhaps the first time in decades, Garrick Ollivander appeared genuinely shocked.
He slowly stepped forward, studying the hovering wands.
“Incredible.” His voice was barely above a whisper.
“Remarkable.” One by one, he examined them.
Then his eyes widened.
“Every one of these wands contains a phoenix feather core.” The room fell silent again.
Ollivander looked at Alvin as though he had just discovered a previously unknown branch of magic.
“Mr.
Gaunt, your compatibility with phoenix-core wands is unlike anything I have ever witnessed.” “Even when Albus Dumbledore purchased his wand from my grandfather, the reaction was nowhere near this dramatic.” Alvin immediately understood what was happening.
Fury.
His phoenix was almost certainly responsible.
Then a thought occurred to him.
If phoenix-core wands were reacting this strongly…
What would happen if a wand were crafted using one of Fury’s own feathers?
The idea was too tempting to ignore.
With a thought, he summoned her.
Golden flames erupted in the center of the shop.
Snape’s eyes narrowed instantly.
Ollivander looked as though he might stop breathing.
A magnificent phoenix emerged from the fire.
Golden and crimson feathers shimmered beneath the sunlight streaming through the windows.
Fury spread her wings and soared gracefully through the shop before settling onto Alvin’s shoulder.
“Eee.” The adorable sound completely ruined the majestic image.
Alvin resisted the urge to laugh.
For several seconds, neither Snape nor Ollivander spoke.
The sight before them was simply too unexpected.
Eventually, Alvin broke the silence.
“This is Fury.” “She appeared shortly after I received my Hogwarts acceptance letter.” “We became partners.” Snape and Ollivander exchanged a glance.
Neither looked entirely certain how to respond.
Phoenixes were among the rarest magical creatures in existence.
Outside of Albus Dumbledore, very few witches or wizards could claim the loyalty of one.
Alvin seized the opportunity.
“Mr.
Ollivander.” “I was wondering…” The wandmaker immediately leaned forward.
“If phoenix feathers suit me this well, would it be possible to create a custom wand using one of Fury’s tail feathers?” For a moment, Ollivander simply stared.
Then his eyes began to shine.
Alvin suddenly felt as though he had thrown raw meat into a cage full of hungry lions.
“My boy,” Ollivander said, almost breathless.
“That is an excellent idea.” Before Alvin could react, the elderly wizard had already seized his arm.
“Come.” “We have much to discuss.” A moment later, he was being dragged toward the workshop at the rear of the store while Ollivander enthusiastically muttered about wand woods, magical resonance, historical significance, and opportunities that came along perhaps once in a century.
Alvin glanced back helplessly.
Snape stood with his arms folded.
His expression suggested complete resignation.
Apparently, this was far from the first time he had witnessed Garrick Ollivander become obsessed with a wand project.