“So, first, we’ll need to head to Gringotts to exchange your pounds for Gold Galleons.”
Professor McGonagall spoke as she led Jerael forward.
Gringotts was hard to miss in Diagon Alley—a towering white building with delicate architecture and ornate decorations, guarded by two goblins at the entrance.
Under the watchful eyes of the goblins, Jerael followed Professor McGonagall inside composedly.
At the counter, a goblin greeted Professor McGonagall respectfully.
“Professor McGonagall, a pleasure to see you.”
Professor McGonagall responded politely, taking out Jerael’s one thousand pounds to exchange.
The goblin lowered his head, glanced at the pounds, then at Jerael, before slowly reaching out and muttering under his breath in an audible tone, “There are always wizards looking for shortcuts, stealing goblin wealth with Muggle currency.”
“Mr.
Jerubani Baluster!”
Professor McGonagall called his name with a slight note of warning.
Jerael opened his eyes wide in surprise.
Goblin names were indeed tongue-twisters and hard to remember.
The goblin, Jerubani Baluster, held his tongue and began slowly counting out Gold Galleons.
Jerael remembered that one Gold Galleon was roughly equal to five pounds, though he didn’t know if the exchange rate stayed fixed or fluctuated.
Still, looking at the final total of 202 Gold Galleons in his hands, Jerael was quite satisfied.
It seemed the end of the war in the wizarding world was beneficial to the Muggle world after all.
With the Gold Galleons in hand, the shopping for first-year supplies commenced.
Professor McGonagall first took Jerael to buy a cauldron, glass vials, a telescope, brass scales, and other supplies, then went to Flourish and Blotts to buy a complete set of first-year textbooks.
Next was clothing.
Jerael arrived at Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions, a famous landmark of the wizarding world.
“Madam Malkin, a set of first-year school robes, if you please.”
Professor McGonagall greeted Madam Malkin warmly.
The plump Madam Malkin approached with a warm aura, enthusiastically taking Jerael’s hand.
“Come along, dear.
Step up onto the stool.
Don’t be afraid of the tape measure—it loves every young wizard.”
Jerael watched in fascination as the tape measure zipped around him, continuously taking his measurements.
First-year robes were simple, made of sturdy yet inexpensive fabric that required only basic tailoring.
With magical assistance, Madam Malkin had Jerael’s clothes ready in no time.
Jerael hopped off the stool, held his clothes, and sincerely thanked Madam Malkin, making her eyes crinkle with laughter.
Jerael turned to look at Professor McGonagall.
“Professor McGonagall, will I be able to learn the magic Madam Malkin used at school?
As you know, my parents have passed away, so I’ll have to live on my own from now on.”
Before Professor McGonagall could speak, Madam Malkin sniffled emotionally and gave Jerael a hug.
“Good boy, that’s household magic.
It’s not taught in classes, but there’s a book called *The Encyclopedia of Household Magic* in the Hogwarts library.
You can borrow it for self-study.”
Professor McGonagall nodded in agreement.
“Mr.
Prentiss, if you encounter any difficulties, you are welcome to ask any professor.
We would be delighted to answer your questions.”
Jerael was delighted.
Household magic was still magic—learning it was a gain.
Besides, judging by Bellatrix Lestrange’s ultimate fate, household magic, if used properly, could be surprisingly lethal.
With the clothes bought, it was time for the most important item for a young wizard: a wand.
With a sense of pilgrimage, Jerael stepped into Ollivanders.
The space inside was far larger than the shopfront suggested, packed with shelves of wand boxes.
The ceiling seemed to be enchanted like the Great Hall at Hogwarts, shimmering with mysterious points of light.
“Good morning, Mr.
Prentiss.” Ollivander emerged quietly from behind a towering stack of wand boxes, his voice soft and raspy.
Even though Jerael was prepared, he was still startled, making Ollivander chuckle softly.
“Well, well, let us get down to business.
Mr.
Prentiss, though your parents did not accomplish grand feats, their affection was deep.
A child filled with love will find a wand filled with love all the same.”
Under Professor McGonagall’s disapproving glare, Ollivander smacked his lips and began selecting wands for Jerael.
Wand after wand was thrust into Jerael’s hand, only to be snapped away just as quickly.
“Could it be this one?
Hawthorn and unicorn hair—no, no, too shy.”
“How about this one?
English oak and troll whisker—oh, no, far too quick-tempered.”
“Or this one?
Vine and dragon heartstring—no, the wand feels your faith isn’t steadfast enough.”
…
Jerael felt like a glorified display rack.
He didn’t need to do anything—just hold the wand, give it a wave, and have it snatched back.
Some wands shot water, some spewed fire, others had bad tempers and immediately emitted black smoke, while some were so introverted that holding them was like holding a twig—zero reaction.
*Look at that last one—vine and dragon heartstring—what on earth are you on about?
A wand needs faith now?*
Jerael was thoroughly bewildered.
Just as he was trying another, the shop bell chimed at the entrance, and a dark figure walked in.
“Wait here.
Be silent.” A silky, cold bass voice echoed, and Jerael involuntarily turned to look.
A young man in his early twenties, tall but thin and lean, with a pale face framed by somewhat messy, shoulder-length black hair.
He looked as if he had just crawled out of a coffin.
The voice belonged to none other than Severus Snape, who had recently become the Potions professor.
“Y-Yes, Professor,” a timid boy’s voice replied.
Only then did Jerael notice a small boy behind Severus Snape, keeping his mouth tightly shut and afraid to move.
“Good morning, Minerva.” Severus clearly held high respect for Professor McGonagall; his tone lacked its usual coldness and carried a hint of deference.
“Good morning, Severus.
The student I’m accompanying will have his wand shortly.
Please wait a moment.” Professor McGonagall nodded, then looked down, showing a bit of warmth to the little boy.
Though to Jerael, the little boy looked even more nervous now.
Suddenly, Jerael felt a new wand placed in his hand.
The moment his fingers brushed the handle, an unprecedented sense of comfort and freedom washed over his heart.
At that exact moment, the Caged Bird Seal on Jerael’s forehead quivered abruptly.
A sharp eagle cry resonated as a cool breeze swept through Ollivanders.
The free wind brushed across the filled shelves, fluttered Ollivander’s drooping hair, hovered gently around Jerael, and gradually dissipated.
A stray breeze drifted toward Severus Snape, softly bumping against his furled brow.
Severus Snape’s eyes widened.
The first harmony between a young wizard and his wand carried a pure, spiritual magic that quietly struck against his heart like a silent thunderclap.
For a moment, Severus had the illusion that he had never borne the Dark Mark, nor carried the heavy burden of his fate.
The free wind brought a brief second of relief, but in the next, reality returned.
Severus felt the heavy, muddy air press down on him once more, causing him to unconsciously knit his brows.
Thinking the young wizard’s magic burst had brushed against Severus and displeased him, Professor McGonagall quickly reassured him, “Oh, Severus, young wizards can’t control their magic burst smoothly—please don’t mind.”
Jerael was sharp enough to add immediately, “I’m very sorry, Professor.
I didn’t mean to.”
Severus glanced down at Jerael, then turned to Professor McGonagall.
“It’s fine, Minerva.”
“Well now, congratulations, Mr.
Prentiss, on finding your life partner,” Ollivander said with a beam.
“Ebony, dragon heartstring, thirteen inches.
Firm and unyielding in character, exceptionally suited for combat spells and Transfiguration, with remarkable affinity for Potions.
Resolute of mind, not easily swayed by external influences.”
“However, take care: while dragon heartstring produces powerful spells, it also means it will perform all manner of magic, including powerful Dark Arts.
Please use it with caution, Mr.
Prentiss.”
Jerael listened attentively to Ollivander’s advice as he took his wand.
The wand was not short, with transverse ridges on the handle for a firm grip, and a solid, jet-black, straight body.
Jerael was very pleased.
As a ninja who had walked through battlefield blood, even living in a peaceful era, he still craved security.
A sturdy wand was good—not easy to snap.
In a pinch, it might even serve as a kunai.
He recalled movies where wands were constantly stepped on or snapped in half; it was terrifying.
“Well then, Mr.
Prentiss, everything is purchased.
However, I suggest you buy an owl—it will help you make new friends,” Professor McGonagall said.
Jerael couldn’t agree more, and he followed Professor McGonagall out of the wand shop.