Chapter 2
The morning light filtered through the curtains of the small flat, streaking across Thomas Greene's floor in golden stripes. It was earlier than he'd normally wake on a summer morning, but excitement had long since pushed sleep aside. He was already dressed when the knock came at the door.
Not the window. Not a magical entrance. Just a regular knock—firm, polite, and unmistakably British.
His mother opened it cautiously, wearing her usual wariness on her face. Standing at the door was Professor McGonagall, the same tall, stern woman in dark emerald robes who had appeared yesterday in their kitchen. She carried an air of formality that made Thomas instinctively straighten up.
"Good morning," she said crisply. "I trust Thomas is ready?"
His mother gave a reluctant nod. "You'll have him home by dinner?"
"Yes," McGonagall replied. "By supper at the latest. He will be perfectly safe."
There wasn't much more to say. His mum handed him a crumpled twenty-pound note and whispered something about snacks. Thomas gave her a quick hug, heart pounding with anticipation.
Outside, the London street was quiet, the early day just beginning to stir. McGonagall glanced up and down the road, then nodded to him.
"Hold on to my arm, Mr. Greene. This may feel a bit unpleasant."
Side-Along Apparition, he remembered. She hadn't mentioned how it worked yesterday.
He barely had time to grab her sleeve before the world squeezed him like a rubber tube, compressing into a pinpoint of sound and pressure. With a sudden pop, they reappeared in a dingy cobblestone courtyard behind what appeared to be an ancient-looking pub nestled between a bookshop and a record store.
The sign over the door was nearly invisible, but he managed to make out the faded letters: The Leaky Cauldron.
Inside, the pub was dark and crowded with strange characters. A witch stirred her tea without touching it. A man read a floating newspaper. The air smelled of ale, smoke, and something faintly herbal.
"Morning, Professor," said the barkeep—a balding man with watery eyes named Tom.
"Good morning, Tom. Young Mr. Greene is starting school this year."
Tom leaned over the bar. "First time? You're in for a treat, lad."
Thomas offered a nervous smile.
McGonagall led him through the back and into a small brick courtyard.
"Now," she said, withdrawing her wand. "Pay attention. This is important."
She pointed her wand at a brick above the trash bin. "Three up... two across."
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
The bricks began to tremble. A small archway formed, then widened rapidly into a tall passageway that opened onto the most fantastical street Thomas had ever seen.
Diagon Alley.
Shops lined the cobblestone street, many of them with signs swinging overhead in a breeze that smelled like ink, parchment, and something sweet and spicy. Cauldrons of every size steamed in windows. Owls hooted in cages. Children ran excitedly past with parents in tow.
"It's real," Thomas whispered.
"Of course it is," McGonagall said, though a small smile tugged at her lips.
They stepped into the alley. Thomas spun in every direction, taking in everything at once: the emerald-and-gold letters of Flourish and Blotts; the gleaming white facade of Gringotts Wizarding Bank, guarded by a goblin with cruel eyes; the towering sign of Madam Malkin's; and the rows of small vendor carts selling everything from sugar quills to charmed umbrellas.
"Where do we begin?" he asked.
"Madam Malkin's," she replied. "Let's get your robes sorted first."
The robe shop was well-lit and smelled faintly of lavender. Madam Malkin, a plump woman in mauve, ushered Thomas onto a stool while enchanted measuring tapes flitted around him.
"First-year?" she said, pinning up a sleeve.
"Yes," Thomas said. "Er, Muggle-born."
She gave a warm smile. "My husband is Muggle-born. You'll do fine."
In less than twenty minutes, he had three sets of black robes, a pointed hat, gloves made of dragon hide, and a winter cloak with shining silver clasps. Each article bore his name stitched discreetly into the collar.
Next, they visited Flourish and Blotts. Thomas stood in awe before shelves upon shelves of spellbooks.
McGonagall handed him a list and began plucking volumes from the shelves with surgical precision:
The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1
A History of Magic
Magical Theory
A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi
Magical Drafts and Potions
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection
"These will be your companions for the first year," she said. "Some are drier than others. I suggest starting with Fantastic Beasts. It's... easier reading."
They left with a trunk full of books and moved on to Potage's Cauldron Shop, where he picked out a standard pewter size 2 cauldron.
In Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment, they acquired a telescope, a set of brass scales, and a boxed set of crystal phials. Thomas stared at the gleaming instruments like museum relics.
Everywhere they went, he asked questions.
"What's the difference between dragon hide and troll hide gloves?"
"Dragon hide is lighter, more durable, and less prone to conducting magical backlash," McGonagall explained.
"Are telescopes magical or regular?"
"Mostly regular—though some can detect invisibility enchantments. Not first-year issue."
They paused at an outdoor tea vendor, where McGonagall let him choose a lemon scone and butterbeer.
"So how does magic work?" he asked. "Is it like energy manipulation or more like—"
"That's a question for Professor Flitwick or Professor Vector," she said gently. "You'll study magical theory in your first term. Much of it won't make sense until you've practiced it."
"So I can't just pick up a wand and start casting spells?"
"No," she said with a faint smile. "Though some have tried."
Finally, they stopped at Eeylops Owl Emporium. The shop was dim and filled with the rustling and hooting of dozens of owls. Barn owls, screech owls, snowy owls, tiny elf owls.
Thomas wandered down the row, pausing at a cage near the back.
Inside perched a barn owl—larger than the others, its feathers deep midnight black, speckled with white along its wings and chest. Its amber eyes locked onto his.
"This one," he whispered.
The shopkeeper looked impressed. "Not many choose that one. Bit aloof, that bird. But sharp. Loyal."
"He's perfect," Thomas said.
McGonagall paid the shopkeeper. The owl was transferred to a traveling cage and perched regally inside.
As they stepped back out into the alley, Thomas turned in a slow circle.
"All this was hidden my whole life," he murmured.
"There's much more to see," McGonagall said. "But for now, we have one last stop. It's time to get your wand."
Thomas looked up.
"Ollivanders?" he asked.
She nodded. "Indeed. Come along."
And with his owl perched in its cage and a head full of dreams, Thomas Greene followed Professor McGonagall down the cobbled street, unaware that the next doorway he stepped through would choose the wand that would shape his destiny.