The golden halls of Asgard still lingered in Harry's mind—the roar of drums, the cheers of thousands—but true to his word, he returned early to Midgard. He had made a promise, and promises mattered to him more than thrones and crowns. Hermione and Draco were to buy their first wands, their books, their Hogwarts supplies, and Harry had vowed to be there.
The Bifröst light faded, and once again the misty Highlands stretched before him. The familiar silhouette of Highlands Manor came into view, its stone walls glowing warmly under the afternoon sun.
Inside, however, warmth was replaced with chaos. The entrance hall was littered with envelopes—dozens, perhaps hundreds of them. They were scattered across the floor, stacked on the tables, even floating in the air, flapping like restless birds.
Sirius stood amid the storm of letters with his wand raised, lazily batting the flying ones out of the air. "Well, pup, looks like you've broken the Headmaster's quill hand. He hasn't stopped writing since you refused Hogwarts."
Harry bent to pick one up. The handwriting was unmistakable.
"Albus Dumbledore," Harry muttered.
Another letter bore the neat script of Minerva McGonagall, stern even on parchment. Others came from professors he barely knew, all urging him, persuading him, even pleading with him to reconsider.
Hermione, who had flooed over early, picked one up and read aloud, "It is the duty of every young witch and wizard to attend Hogwarts…" She glanced at Harry, her eyes uncertain. "He's not going to stop."
Harry's jaw tightened. "Let him write until his hand falls off. My answer won't change."
Behind him, Lily placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You've chosen your path, Harry. And we support you." Her green eyes, so like his own, glowed with quiet strength.
Sirius grinned. "Too right. Why would you sit in dusty classrooms when you've got Asgard on one side and Highlands Manor on the other? You've outgrown Hogwarts before you've even started."
Harry exhaled slowly, the tension easing. It meant everything that they believed in him.
The subject of his training came up over dinner that evening. The long oak table groaned under the weight of Andromeda's roast lamb, fresh bread, and steaming potatoes.
Thor's absence was felt, though his voice carried in memory. "My son, discipline of the body is the foundation of strength."
Harry chewed thoughtfully, remembering the sparring matches, the bruises earned from Thor's heavy-handed lessons in martial combat. Every day had been a new challenge: mastering balance, learning to fight with hammer and blade, pushing his body until sweat poured like rain.
Sirius raised his glass. "So, how goes training with the big guy? Still getting pounded into the dirt?"
Harry smirked. "Every morning. Thor's teaching me martial forms—sword, spear, even hand-to-hand. He says I need to learn to fight like a warrior of Asgard before I can wield magic in battle."
"And Loki?" Lily asked carefully.
At that, Harry's smile turned more contemplative. "Different. Loki's teaching me to see magic as a web, not a hammer. To weave illusions, bend perceptions, twist energy in ways I never imagined. He says power isn't just about strength—it's about subtlety. Control."
Sirius snorted. "Trust Loki to make everything about trickery."
Harry shook his head. "It's not just trickery. It's… understanding. Thor builds me up, Loki sharpens me. Together, they're giving me something Hogwarts never could."
Hermione frowned slightly, though not in disapproval. "I understand why you've chosen this path, Harry. But Hogwarts—it's tradition. Knowledge. Friends. Are you sure you won't miss it?"
Harry looked her straight in the eye. "I've got my friends already. You. Draco. Sirius. My family. And knowledge? Asgard holds more knowledge than Hogwarts could dream of. What I'll miss… maybe… is the chance to prove myself among other wizards. But I'll make my mark another way."
Draco, who had been unusually quiet, leaned forward. "And I'll make mine too. With our project. Once we build that theater, Hogwarts will look like a backwater school compared to us."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "You mean if we build that theater."
Harry's lips curved into a small smile. "No. When."
The night ended with Sirius levitating all of Dumbledore's letters into a pile, tossing them into the fireplace without a second thought.
As the flames devoured the parchment, Harry felt lighter. He had chosen his path: warrior of Asgard, builder of Midgard's future. He wouldn't be swayed by tradition or manipulation. And tomorrow, he would keep another promise—he would walk beside Hermione and Draco as they bought their wands, stepping into their Hogwarts journey even as he walked away from his.
Diagon Alley was chaos. Even on ordinary summer days, it thrummed with noise and motion, but today it was bursting at the seams. Families pushed past one another with lists clutched in hand, children darted between stalls, and owls swooped overhead, their screeches echoing against cobblestones.
But the bustle quieted in pockets as heads turned. Whispers rippled through the crowd—Harry Potter was there, walking not with a Hogwarts list in hand, but with his friends. His family trailed nearby: Sirius, Lily, and even America, joined by Hermione and her parents, Draco and Narcissa, and the Tonkses with Dora in tow.
"That's Harry Potter" someone whispered.
Harry ignored it. He had promised Hermione and Draco he would be there, and that was all that mattered.
Their first stop was a wide-fronted shop with trunks stacked high in the windows: Broadstone's Trunk Emporium. The display showed trunks that unfolded into desks, wardrobes, even tiny reading rooms.
Inside, Hermione was instantly enchanted. She ran her hand over a trunk with brass fittings and rune-etched corners. "Look at this one—it's got four compartments, each charmed with Undetectable Extension. Perfect for organizing books, potions, clothes…"
Her parents exchanged bemused smiles.
Draco, meanwhile, inspected a sleeker model lined with velvet. "This one has a security ward keyed to your blood. No one else can open it." His tone was matter-of-fact, but his eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
Harry leaned over one trunk that expanded into a full miniature study when tapped. "You're both going to need something stronger than the standard Hogwarts issue. If you're serious about this project, you'll be carrying more than just textbooks. Rune stones, glass panels, enchanted crystals…"
Hermione nodded eagerly. "Then advanced trunks it is."
They each selected models far beyond what most students could dream of. The shopkeeper's eyes nearly popped at the purchases, but gold changed hands quickly—Narcissa's precise, the Grangers hesitant, Sirius flamboyant.
Once the trunks were shrunk and tucked away, the group spilled back onto the street. The adults soon grew restless, tempted by their own errands.
"I think we'll leave you young ones to it," Sirius said cheerfully. "Lily and I are off to Fortescue's. Best ice cream in the Alley."
Narcissa inclined her head. "I'll check on our vault at Gringotts."
Ted Tonks muttered something about visiting a bookshop with Andromeda.
Within minutes, the children stood together, freed from parental eyes. The Alley stretched before them, crowded and alive.
"All right," Harry said, glancing between Draco and Hermione. "Where to first?"
Hermione consulted her list. "Books, robes, cauldrons, wands—the essentials."
Draco gave a sly smile. "Let's make it quick. I want my wand."
And so they began their journey. From shop to shop they went—Madam Malkin's, where Hermione twirled nervously in her first set of Hogwarts robes; the Apothecary, where Draco wrinkled his nose at the smells; Flourish and Blotts, where Hermione nearly vanished behind a stack of extra reading beyond the school list.
Harry trailed with them, steady, watchful, the quiet anchor of their small group. He didn't need a list, didn't need supplies, but he shared their excitement. For them, this was the beginning of a new adventure. For him, it was a promise kept.
Ollivander's.
The shop loomed at the far end of the street, narrow and crooked, its windows filled with towers of dusty boxes. A hush fell over the group as they approached, the noise of the Alley dimming behind them.
"Ready?" Harry asked softly.
Hermione's eyes shone. Draco's lips curved into a nervous smirk.
"Ready," they said together.
And with that, they stepped inside.
The bell above the narrow door chimed softly as they stepped into Ollivander's. The air inside smelled faintly of dust and polished wood. Tall shelves rose on either side, stacked high with slender boxes that seemed to watch them. The silence was thick, broken only by the creak of the floorboards as they crossed into the dim shop.
Hermione glanced around nervously. "It's… smaller than I imagined."
Draco lifted his chin, though his eyes darted warily over the shelves. "Size doesn't matter. What matters is getting the right wand."
From the shadows at the back of the shop, a voice floated toward them.
"I wondered when I'd be seeing you."
Mr. Ollivander appeared as though conjured, his pale eyes wide and gleaming. His silver hair caught the lamplight, making him look otherworldly. He moved slowly, deliberately, as though every step was a choice.
"Ah," he breathed, his gaze sweeping over them. "Mr. Malfoy. And… Harry Potter." His lips twitched. "Or perhaps… Harry Potter Black what curious threads weave your destiny."
Harry stiffened slightly, but said nothing.
Ollivander's gaze lingered on him before shifting to Hermione. "Ladies first."
Hermione stepped forward, palms damp. Ollivander vanished between shelves, returning moments later with a slender box.
"Vine wood, dragon heartstring, ten and three-quarter inches. Give it a wave."
Hermione lifted the wand with care and flicked. A pile of boxes tumbled from a shelf with a crash.
"No, no, not that one," Ollivander murmured, snatching it away. "Perhaps…"
He tried her with hazel and unicorn hair. Sparks fizzled weakly. Then ash with phoenix feather—too sharp, the wand slipped from her fingers.
Hermione's frustration mounted. "What if none of them work?"
Ollivander only smiled. "The wand chooses the witch."
Finally, he presented a slim wand of vine wood with a dragon heartstring core, slightly longer. Hermione's hand closed around it—and warmth surged through her arm. She gave it a flick. A shower of golden sparks erupted, filling the shop with a bright glow.
Her eyes widened. "Oh—oh, it feels…"
"Perfect," Ollivander finished softly, watching her with that unsettling intensity. "A wand well suited to intelligence, to perseverance. It will serve you well, Miss Granger."
Hermione beamed, cradling it as though it were alive.
Now it was Draco's turn. He strode forward confidently, though Harry could see the nervous tension in his shoulders.
"Ah, a Malfoy," Ollivander mused, his voice dipping into memory. "I remember your father's wand well. Eleven inches, hawthorn, dragon heartstring. Powerful, but brittle. Not unlike Lucius himself."
Draco's jaw tightened. "And mine?"
Ollivander hummed and tried him with maple, with hornbeam, with cherry wood. Each reacted poorly—sparks sputtered, one wand even cracked a glass lamp.
Draco's confidence faltered. "What if—what if nothing suits me?"
Ollivander's pale eyes gleamed. "Patience." He returned with a black box and lifted out a polished wand. "Hawthorn, unicorn hair, ten inches precisely."
The moment Draco gripped it, something shifted. A pulse of magic rippled through the shop, strong and steady. He gave it a sharp flick, and a stream of silver light burst forth, twisting into a serpent that coiled in the air before fading.
Draco's lips curled into a rare, genuine smile. "Yes. This one."
Ollivander tilted his head. "Curious. Hawthorn is a wand of paradox—complex, often as conflicted as its master. And yet, paired with unicorn hair… you may find your path is not what others expect of you, Mr. Malfoy."
Draco's expression flickered, but he held the wand firmly.
Ollivander turned finally to Harry. His voice softened. "And you, young man… though you claim you have no need of me."
Harry shifted uncomfortably. "I already have what I need."
"Perhaps," Ollivander murmured. His gaze seemed to pierce through Harry, into something deeper. "And yet, I wonder… what wand might answer you now? Not the boy who lived but you."
Harry said nothing. His green eyes met Ollivander's, steady, unyielding.
The old wandmaker studied him for a long time before finally bowing his head. "Very well. Perhaps one day we shall find out. Until then, young Potter, carry what you must."
When they stepped back into the sunlit street, Hermione clutched her wand with shining eyes, Draco twirled his between his fingers with a smirk, and Harry walked beside them, silent, his thoughts a storm.
For them, it was the beginning of Hogwarts. For him, it was something else entirely.
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