"This is it—Diagon Alley!" Professor McGonagall announced to Alice Norton and her bodyguard, Haven Taylor.
Taylor took a slow look around. Wizards in flowing robes and pointed hats hurried past, some twirling little sticks—wands, he knew that much. Were those their weapons?
He brushed the grip of the pistol tucked at his waist, jaw tight, and eased Alice behind him. One gun didn't feel like enough to keep his sweet, kind-hearted charge safe in this freak show.
Alice rose on tiptoe, patted his shoulder, and grinned. "Uncle Taylor, chill. Everyone's staring at us now."
He blew out a long breath. "Fine, Miss. What's the plan?"
McGonagall answered, "First, the bank. We'll exchange your money for wizard currency."
Alice tilted her head. "Is the wizard bank just a branch of a regular one?"
McGonagall chuckled. "Hardly, child. Ours is called Gringotts, and it's run by goblins."
A while later, Taylor stormed out of the white marble building, face like thunder. "Miss, those little trolls are heartless, money-grubbing, capitalist scum!"
"Five pounds for one Galleon? They should just rob people and be done with it!"
Alice stared, deadpan. "Uncle Taylor, if you thought it was a rip-off, why'd you swap ten grand for two thousand Galleons in one go?"
He scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. "I just… didn't want you stranded in this crazy world without cash. When have you ever carried less than two thousand coins, huh?"
She tapped her forehead. "The goblin said two thousand Galleons will keep me living large for ages!"
Taylor waved it off. "Come on, Miss, cut me some slack." He grabbed her hand. "Let's shop. You need a wand, textbooks, robes, pointy hat, gloves, an owl—the works. Clock's ticking!"
McGonagall suddenly remembered something, rattled off a list of shops and how to leave Diagon Alley, then hurried off.
Alice's first stop was Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. A short, plump witch bustled over. "Hogwarts uniforms, dear?"
Alice nodded politely. Madam Malkin's eyes lit up—this girl had class. "Wait right here, I'll be back in a jiffy."
While Alice waited, a pale, skinny kid with slicked-back blond hair sauntered in. He spotted her, lifted his chin, and drawled, "Hogwarts first-year too?"
She nodded, curious.
"My father's buying my books, Mother's picking my wand. I was just about to—"
Alice cut him off. She didn't like the superior vibe. "I don't care about you or your family. Bye."
She waved and followed Madam Malkin to the fitting room, leaving him mid-sentence.
The fitting went fast—Madam Malkin was a pro. When Alice stepped out, the blond kid was gone. In his place stood a messy-haired boy in ill-fitting clothes and cracked glasses. He froze when he saw her face. Alice frowned, uncomfortable, just as he turned beet-red and stammered:
"S-sorry, I didn't mean—uh, you're really pretty. I'm Harry. Harry Potter."
Alice smiled lightly. "Alice Norton."
She scooped up her robes and headed for the door, but paused at the threshold and called back, "There's a stuck-up little prince in the boys' fitting room. Don't let anything he says get to you."
Right on cue, the blond kid emerged, face flushing crimson. "I am not a stuck-up little prince. I'm Malfoy—Draco Malfoy, of the Malfoy family."
Alice just laughed softly, locked eyes with him, and said, "Sure thing, Mr. Malfoy."
"You—" He started, but she was already gone. The words died in his throat.
Harry couldn't hold it in—he burst out laughing. Draco shot him a death glare and stalked off.
Alice didn't give Draco another thought. Uncle Taylor was off buying her books; her next stop was a wand.
She'd figured wizards just ch chanted spells—turns out you need a stick. Go figure.
The shop looked ancient and dusty, the gold sign peeling: Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 B.C.
This was the place.
She pushed open the door. An old man with bright, silvery eyes stood behind the counter.
"Hogwarts first-year?" he asked the second he saw her.
Alice nodded. "Sir, I've never touched magic before. I guess I'm what you call a Muggle?"
Ollivander's eyes twinkled. "No worries. I'll find the wand that chooses you. Family reputation for a thousand years!"
Alice grinned. "I trust you completely."
He measured her—arm length, height, even between her nostrils—then pulled a box from the shelves. "Try this. The moment you walked in, I knew. Yew, dragon heartstring, ten inches."
She took it, gave a casual flick, and felt a warm rush, like the wand was dancing in her hand. Perfect.
Ollivander beamed, wrapped it up, and handed it over.
Alice thanked him and left. Only after the door shut did he sink into a chair, rubbing his brow. "Odd… why did it fit so well?"
On her way to find Taylor, Alice passed a bushy-haired girl arguing with her parents and a huge red-headed family marching along like a parade.
She spotted Taylor waving a card. "Miss! Look—Dumbledore's Chocolate Frog card! He just winked at me!"
Alice peered at the kindly old man with the massive white beard winking up at her. A random thought popped into her head: Wonder if there's a sliver of his soul in there… could my Soul Banner soak it up?
Back in the Hogwarts headmaster's office, Dumbledore—mid-conversation with a just-returned McGonagall—suddenly sneezed so hard she jumped.
"Albus, are you ill?"
"No, no, Minerva. I just feel a very confident child has designs on me."
McGonagall's elegant composure cracked; she pressed her lips together, half-amused, half-annoyed. "Which child is that bold?"
Dumbledore just twinkled and said nothing.