Soren felt like he’d been swallowed by a colossal vortex.
His body spun beyond his control, and the roaring in his ears was deafening.
He forced himself to stay calm, eyes wide open, watching the green flames whirl past in every direction.
He was absolutely certain he’d enunciated the destination clearly.
Which meant he should arrive at the Leaky Cauldron without any trouble.
In the endless spinning he occasionally slammed into something solid, but every time he tried to focus on it, the shapes blurred away.
After who knows how long, a flickering fireplace grate grew steadily clearer.
Soren scanned his surroundings, confirmed there were no other exits, and launched himself toward it with every ounce of strength he had.
Weightlessness.
Then he stumbled out of the swirling flames and gulped down fresh air, heavy with the smell of ale and hot food.
“Whoa, whoa, slow down, little one.
Don’t go knocking over my tray, you reckless little scoundrel.”
Soren looked up blankly.
A wizened old man stood before him, nearly bald and thin as a rake, dressed in the tidy clothes of a barkeeper.
The man winked playfully.
“Welcome, young one, welcome to the Leaky Cauldron.
Name’s Tom, the owner.
House rules: first drink’s on me!”
He leaned a tray carrying four glasses of pale ale toward Soren, gesturing for him to take one.
Soren stood there dumbfounded, unsure whether to accept this generous offer.
Just then, flames erupted behind him.
Another figure stepped out of the fireplace and shoved him aside.
“Don’t block the Floo exit.
It’s the busy season.
Students come through here to Diagon Alley every single day.” Snape released his grip on Soren’s shoulder and turned to the barman.
“And you, Tom.
Encouraging a first-year to drink is a criminal offence, in case you weren’t aware.”
Tom clearly hadn’t expected Soren’s companion to be the infamous Professor Snape.
His hand jerked back and he offered a sheepish grin.
“Just having a bit of fun, Professor.
If he’d actually reached for it, I’d have laughed him out of the building.”
“See that it stays that way.”
Snape’s tone was ice.
He strode forward without another word.
Soren hurried after him, pausing just long enough to call back over his shoulder.
“Nice to meet you, Tom!
I’m Soren Reed, first-year.
See you next time!”
Tom waved good-naturedly.
With Snape standing right there, he wisely refrained from saying anything along the lines of “come again.”
Soren caught up with Snape in the pub’s main hall.
Glancing back, he realised the fireplace had deposited him in what amounted to a storeroom for beer kegs and cured meats.
A few tables were occupied by patrons in outlandish robes.
Nobody he recognised.
NPCs, the lot of them.
Snape had zero interest in lingering.
He led Soren through to a small enclosed courtyard behind the pub.
Then came the classic ritual.
Three up from the dustbin, two across, and three light taps of a wand on the wall.
The bricks rearranged themselves, parting to reveal a wide archway spacious enough for three people to walk abreast.
Beyond it stretched a winding cobblestone path that curved toward a bustling street.
“Memorise the sequence.
You’ll be doing it yourself next time.”
Snape was not about to say anything as warm as “Welcome to Diagon Alley.” That detached reminder was all Soren got before the man set off again.
Soren gave a dutiful nod and pumped his short legs to keep up, not daring to waste a single unnecessary word.
As they neared the shopping district, the crowds thickened noticeably.
Just as Soren was craning his neck in every direction, aching to duck into every last shop, Snape stopped dead.
He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket, glanced at it, and thrust it at Soren.
“Your acceptance letter should include a supply list.
I brought an extra copy in case you forgot yours.
Buy what’s on here.
And don’t forget what I told you before.”
“Yes, Professor.”
Soren had actually brought his own copy, but there was no reason to turn down the gesture.
He took the paper.
Snape went on.
“Wand-shopping takes the longest.
Buying a pet is the least necessary.
Save both for last.
Start with everything else.”
“Yes, Professor.”
“Wizarding currency.
Gold coins are Galleons.
One Galleon equals seventeen Sickles.
One Sickle equals twenty-nine Knuts.
You’ll get used to it.”
“Yes, Professor.”
What else was there to say?
What followed was a remarkably dull shopping expedition.
With the “illustrious” Professor Snape shadowing him, every young witch or wizard they encountered spontaneously activated what Soren mentally labelled “hug-the-wall” mode.
Aside from a handful of parents and Slytherin students, kids from the other houses looked like they would have paid good money to turn invisible on the spot.
Even the shopkeepers grew stiff and formal whenever Snape addressed them.
Every exchange was about as thrilling as watching paint dry.
Soren noticed something else, too.
Snape clearly resented this babysitting assignment, and his gaze kept drifting toward Soren, casual and deliberate at once.
Not a good sign.
So Soren kept his excitement in check and stuck to the list.
First up: school robes.
Fine clothes made the man, as the saying went, and Soren had no intention of skimping here.
He opted for brand-new robes.
His background already invited enough whispers.
Showing up in rags would only tempt every small-minded snob to put a boot on his neck, personal grievances or not.
Next: textbooks.
Snape had told him to buy secondhand.
Soren intended to comply.
He sifted through stacks of used books and quickly assembled a complete set, no missing pages, bindings intact.
That wrapped up the bookshop.
If he’d had money to spare, there were plenty of fascinating magical texts he would have loved to browse.
But “if” didn’t pay for anything.
He left with nothing but regret.
After that came potions supplies: cauldrons, scales, ingredient kits.
This was where Soren finally reaped a small benefit from Snape’s presence.
While he was agonising over which secondhand equipment to pick, Snape reached out impatiently and selected the best-quality used cauldron and tools for him on the spot.
Then the apothecary owner volunteered a discount, saving Soren a tidy little sum.
Having a Potions Master tag along definitely had its perks in related fields.
Another item crossed off the list.
Only the two deliberately postponed tasks remained.
“Wand first,” Snape decreed.
“Yes, Professor.” Soren accepted his orders.
The two of them arrived at Diagon Alley’s most popular landmark: Ollivanders Wand Shop.
The gold lettering on the door read: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.
Soren’s gaze lingered briefly on the lone wand displayed in the window before he followed Snape inside.
The shop was narrow and densely packed.
The interior ran deeper than expected, but so crammed with merchandise it resembled a miniature library.
The front room was particularly tight.
Aside from wand boxes stacked almost to the ceiling, there was barely space for a single spindly chair and nothing else.
Perhaps the previous customer had just left.
Mr Ollivander was in the middle of returning wands to their rightful places.
At the sound of the door, the silver-haired old man turned and offered a genial smile.
“Welcome.
Another young wizard about to set out and write their legend.
I am Ollivander.
A pleasure to serve you.”
“You’re too kind, Mr Ollivander…
sir.” Soren corrected himself mid-sentence and introduced himself properly.
Mr Ollivander chuckled warmly and walked over with steady steps.
Once the shelving no longer blocked his view, he finally spotted Snape standing behind Soren.
His large, pale eyes flickered with surprise.
“Severus.
You’re the one escorting a new student?
What’s this, then?
Growing older has finally given you some patience for children?”
He certainly had the authority to speak to Snape that way.
After all, he had sold Snape his wand himself.
A rare smile crossed Snape’s face, there and gone in an instant.
“I am Hogwarts faculty.
Certain duties are unavoidable.
Master Ollivander, do give this young wizard a thorough fitting.
He’s the…
particularly special sort.
Considerable potential.”
A flash of understanding lit Mr Ollivander’s eyes, bright as twin moons.
He caught Snape’s meaning and stole a discreet glance at Soren.
The problem was, Soren wasn’t actually a child.
He could read between the lines just fine.
Was this suspicion?
A test?
That blasted “Tom.” One man makes the mess and leaves everyone else to deal with the fallout.