Harry and Hagrid split up.
Hagrid used his size to his advantage, heading to Flourish and Blotts to help Harry purchase the required books and supplies, while Harry went ahead alone to Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions to buy his school uniform.
The Hogwarts acceptance letter specifically directed him to this shop, so there had to be a good reason for it.
Harry took a deep breath.
Just as he reached out to push open the door, a familiar face stepped out from inside.
“Vincent? What are you doing here?” Harry felt a bit lightheaded.
Ever since he received that letter, his life seemed to have turned upside down.
He couldn’t fathom why the letter had come to him, Aunt Petunia and her family’s reaction was utterly baffling, and when Hagrid tracked him down, Harry had been completely overwhelmed.
He had never imagined anyone in this world besides Vincent would remember his birthday.
And now, he felt even more like he was in a dream witnessing the unbelievable.
“Vincent? Is my dream coming to an end? Because I think I’m seeing you here.”
From the moment he met Hagrid, Harry had felt lightheaded, as if moving through a dream.
Now that he was seeing Vincent—the person he knew best—inside it, he was even more convinced it had to be a dream.
After all, the world couldn’t possibly be full of such bizarre coincidences that his next-door neighbor happened to be a wizard, too.
Harry watched as that familiar face twisted into a familiar look of disdain.
Vincent raised an eyebrow, his tone equally dry.
“Right. The fastest way to wake you up is a punch straight to the jaw. Want to give it a try?”
Harry blinked his green eyes, unable to process the situation.
Vincent sighed.
“Come inside. Don’t block the door—we shouldn’t get in the way of business.”
Leading Harry into Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions, Vincent let out a quiet sigh.
He had known his story with Harry wasn’t over, but he hadn’t expected it to pick up again quite so soon.
“Vincent, are you a wizard too? How did you get here? Are you going to Hogwarts with me?”
Harry was bursting with excitement.
On any normal day, he wouldn’t fire off question after question like this, but everything he had seen in Diagon Alley today had filled him with overwhelming exhilaration.
Only today.
Any other time, Vincent wouldn’t have hesitated to tease him, but today he held back.
*Let the boy talk all he wants.*
“Madam Malkin, could you please measure him as well?” Vincent said.
He had already ordered his own robes and knew the drill.
Harry followed Vincent inside.
Looking through the gaps between the shop mirrors and racks of fabric, he spotted a measuring tape hovering on its own in midair and stared at it with wide-eyed curiosity.
“Another Hogwarts beginner? Since you know each other, you can’t be Muggle-borns. Have you decided which House you’re going into?”
An exceedingly blunt voice drifted over from inside the shop.
Madam Malkin stepped out, smiled at them, and gestured for Harry to come forward for his measurements.
Stepping deeper into the shop, Harry finally caught sight of the speaker.
It was a blond boy with skin so pale Harry almost thought him unwell.
Though he looked about Harry’s age, his hair was slicked back meticulously with hair gel, giving him a strangely bizarre look.
Harry wasn’t sure if he should speak to him, having not fully grasped the meaning of the boy’s words.
He decided to walk straight over to Madam Malkin to get measured.
Vincent tossed the question back effortlessly.
“Sounds like you’ve already decided on your House. It must suit you well.”
When you don’t want to answer a question, turn it back on the speaker.
Let them ramble on so you don’t have to say a thing.
The blond boy took the bait instantly.
“Of course. A Malfoy always goes to Slytherin. Only noble pure-blood wizards in Slytherin are fit to associate with a Malfoy, and only Slytherin is worthy of a Malfoy.”
The boy spoke with a theatrical lilt, unable to hide the arrogance dripping from his voice—not that he was trying to.
Vincent drifted his gaze toward the floating tape measure, while Harry kept staring at it fascinated, paying no attention to the boy’s boasting.
The boy held his head high out of habit.
As soon as his voice trailed off, Vincent turned to face him with an expression of polite attentiveness, which spurred the boy on even further.
“None of the other Houses can compare to Slytherin. There are far too many half-bloods. I really don’t know why Hogwarts admits so many of them.”
Once Harry was measured, though he couldn’t take his robes right away, Vincent led him toward the exit, finally bothering to offer a reply: “If Britain had enough pure-blood wizards, they’d naturally open a school strictly for themselves. Since there aren’t enough, half-bloods are actually an advantage. Without them, the wizarding world couldn’t even run.”
The blond boy paused, caught off guard.
Just as he opened his mouth to object, Vincent had already pushed open the door and ushered Harry out.
Outside, Harry couldn’t understand why Vincent had said all that.
Vincent glanced around at the shop signs and picked a quieter spot in the shade.
“To understand the wizarding world and Hogwarts, we’re both outsiders. We couldn’t possibly know as much as people like him. If he’s willing to talk, why not listen?”
“Then why leave so fast?” Harry asked.
“He looked like he still had plenty to say.”
Vincent narrowed his eyes.
“Harry Potter, are you just skipping straight to the answer key? Tell me your interpretation.”
Harry reflexively straightened his spine, just as he did whenever Vincent quizzed him.
“Because his information wasn’t good enough?”
Vincent drew a fruit candy from his pocket and tossed it to Harry.
“Partially.”
Harry snatched the candy from midair, peeled off the wrapper, and popped it into his mouth.
Back during his days at Aunt Petunia’s, Vincent had shared candies with him just like this—as rewards for answering questions.
“Malfoy is a spoiled child,” Vincent said.
“Don’t ask how I know his surname—he practically crams everything he’s proud of into every sentence. Whatever information he could give is only what his parents fed him. You could call it a narrow perspective—just like he’ll never understand how to properly spread jam on toast.”
Perhaps wizards in the magical world didn’t need to spread jam on their own toast; Vincent was merely making a point.
It was a common flaw among the rich.
Vincent was wealthy himself, yet he had never abandoned essential practical skills.
His adoptive parents were open-minded, teaching him never to grow arrogant simply because he was different.
Though their love hadn’t truly been directed at him, the practical benefits he received were real enough.
Vincent was eager to learn; he knew how to keep his parents satisfied and how to soothe the power resting inside him.
Holding up his map, Harry guided Vincent toward the wand shop.
Harry had originally wanted to wait for Hagrid, but Vincent took the candy wrapper Harry was holding and folded it into a paper crane.
Tracing his fingertip across the paper twice, he muttered an incantation Harry couldn’t yet understand.
The tiny paper crane shuddered to life and fluttered off toward the entrance of Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions.
“It’ll deliver the message,” Vincent said calmly.
“If we go now, we won’t have to wait in line.”
Vincent’s indifferent expression formed a stark contrast with Harry.
“You… I’ve known you for years,” Harry said.
“How come I never knew you could do tricks like that?”
“Why do you think my parents left me in England by myself?” Vincent replied.
Harry fell silent.
He walked beside Vincent in silence, saying nothing more.
Sometimes Harry felt that he and Vincent were companions in misfortune.
Neither had ever known their real parents, and neither had a happy childhood or a warm family.
“Don’t look at me like that, Harry. At least I have endless money.”
Harry snapped out of it, stepping closer to throw an arm around Vincent’s shoulders.
“Don’t worry, Vincent! I just found out today that my parents left me a small fortune, too. What’s mine is yours—we’ll spend it together!”
Vincent was one of the few people who had ever shown Harry genuine kindness.
Harry figured his parents wouldn’t mind him sharing part of his inheritance with his best friend.
“Including my homework?” Vincent asked.
“Vincent, I’m trying to express my gratitude here. Don’t hurt me.”
Vincent glanced at him sideways.
“There are plenty of ways to thank me. The first is to go pick out a suitable wand. Harry Potter is famous in the wizarding world—let’s see if your celebrity status gets us any special treatment.”
Hearing about his supposed grand deeds in the wizarding world—deeds he had zero memory of—in front of someone he knew so well made Harry flush with embarrassment, barely able to stand straight.
“In we go, in we go.”
Pushing Vincent into Ollivanders wand shop, it turned out their timing wasn’t quite ideal—a young wizard was inside, selecting a wand.
It was a boy who seemed almost cut from the same cloth as the one they’d just met, though at least his taste was somewhat normal.
His dark hair tumbled softly and naturally, free of a lethal dose of hair gel.
Mr.
Ollivander was handing a handsome wand into his hand, signaling that their selection was wrapped up.
“This is a powerful wand,” Mr.
Ollivander said.
“May it work with you to fulfill your desires.”
The young boy gave a slight nod, accepting it with restrained dignity.
The servant beside him placed gold coins on the desk, turning to leave with a swoop of his cloak that radiated aloof pride.
That wasn’t his mother—there wasn’t the slightest resemblance in their features.
He had stood half a step behind the boy the whole time.
Vincent had once had servants who attended to him in that exact same way.
As the delicately featured boy passed by him, Vincent caught a glimpse of an expression identical to his own: cool and detached.
Indeed, not everyone born into a wealthy family lived a happy life.
Wizarding families were no exception.
Vincent watched him leave, then pulled back his gaze, his face returning to its calm composure.
“Let me take a look. I’ve never seen a wand before.”
“You can already use that magical power inside you,” Harry said.
“Do you even need a wand?”
The first wand Harry had ever seen was hidden inside Hagrid’s umbrella—though Hagrid hadn’t admitted it was his wand.
Yet every wizard Harry had seen in Diagon Alley carried a wand of their own.
Harry couldn’t help but wonder aloud, “What kind of wands do you think we’ll get?”
Vincent looked toward the frail, slender old man inside the shop.
“Mr. Ollivander will pick out the finest wands for us.”
A polite compliment never hurt anyone—flattery was rarely the wrong move.