"So that's how it is, huh~" Harry looked at the blond little wizard with a smile that wasn't quite a smile, as if he really had accepted the explanation.
"In that case, goodbye, Mr. Mudblood. I'll be looking forward to our next meeting."
Reining himself in just in time and not taking the blond boy's head off with one stroke, Harry let out a long, quiet breath.
Madam Malkin was a good person; it would have been awful to have a bloody incident in her shop.
He patted the blond little wizard on the shoulder, paid for his robes, then gave Madam Malkin and the shop assistant a small nod under their curious gazes and walked out of the shop.
The blond boy stayed there, frozen. When he finally came back to himself, his face went from white, to red, and then back to an even more ashen, sickly pale.
He was furious, but he didn't dare show it. Right now, the fear of death completely drowned out his anger.
The poor blond little wizard could only stamp his foot hard, then run to the shop next door to tattle to his mum and dad.
...
Harry had barely stepped out of Madam Malkin's when he spotted Hagrid.
The half-giant, whose appearance could be quite intimidating, was holding a chocolate ice cream in one hand and steadily licking away at it.
Maybe he was eating too roughly, because his shaggy, bearded face was dotted here and there with smears of melted ice cream.
Hagrid handed Harry the two things he had in his other hand—one was a drink Harry assumed was the pick-me-up he'd mentioned, and the other was a chocolate ice cream as well.
"Here yeh go, Harry. This one's the tonic, and this here's chocolate and nut ice cream. I reckon you'll love 'em both."
Harry took them and sampled each in turn. They really were excellent.
"Thank you, Hagrid. I like them a lot."
After drinking about half of the tonic, Harry remembered what the blond boy had said and turned to Hagrid with a question.
"I think I heard the word 'Quidditch' just now. It sounds like lots of witches and wizards are into it. Does Quidditch have some special meaning in the wizarding world?"
"Merlin's beard, Harry, I plumb forgot yeh don't know much about our world. You don't even know what Quidditch is.
"It's the most important sport in the wizarding world. It's overseen by the Department of Magical Games and Sports at the Ministry of Magic. Kids play it, Hogwarts has house teams that compete, and there are world-famous professional players who make a living off it.
"All in all, just about every witch and wizard loves Quidditch!"
Harry nodded. So it was basically this world's version of football.
The only difference was that Quidditch had an absolute monopoly on the wizarding world's sporting life.
Thinking of his father, whom he had never met, and how he'd once been Gryffindor's Seeker, Harry felt he ought to give it a try.
Still, it would probably just be a bit of recreation and not much of a challenge. He didn't believe for a second that, with his body strengthened by chaos magic, he would be weaker than those physically frail little wizards.
Once they finished their ice creams, the two of them arrived at a bookshop called Flourish and Blotts.
Flourish and Blotts held an enormous stock; countless bookshelves were stacked together, crammed full of books all the way up to the ceiling.
With Hagrid's help, Harry first bought all the textbooks he needed for school. Then, while Hagrid wasn't looking, he quietly picked up a few extra books like "Curses and Counter-Curses" and "Ancient Magic and Spells Long Forgotten."
He had a feeling Hagrid wouldn't approve of a little wizard reading such dangerous subjects. But Harry wasn't a child, and he didn't want to put Hagrid in an awkward position, so he could only do it this way.
He slipped the secretly purchased books into his pocket universe. This sort of advanced storage spell wasn't difficult for Harry, it just required a great deal of magic to maintain.
And the last thing Harry lacked was magic.
After that, Hagrid took Harry to buy cauldrons, telescopes, and all sorts of herbs. On top of the items Hogwarts required, Harry also bought extras like dragon blood and unicorn hair.
The tissues and organs of powerful magical creatures could be put to all sorts of uses—replacing the price a sorcerer needed to pay for certain spells, crafting powerful magical items, brewing rare potions, and so on…
What disappointed Harry was that, despite how impressive they sounded, these magical materials actually didn't contain much magic at all.
Take dragon blood: the dragon blood he'd encountered before had been like molten lava. The magic contained in a single drop had been enough to wipe out a small town.
Of course, that had been the blood of the most powerful magical dragons. Compared to that, this dragon blood was far inferior—even to the weakest of those dragons. He figured that any magical item made with these materials would see its power drop sharply.
At last, Harry and Hagrid stopped in front of a shabby little shop. On the equally worn sign hanging above the door, the following words were inscribed:
"Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C."
As they stepped inside, the jingling sound of a bell came from the back of the shop—that must have been the signal to tell the owner a customer had arrived.
The shop itself was tiny, but there were a great many things inside, especially the stacks of narrow boxes piled on a set of shelves that covered an entire wall.
Hagrid told Harry he needed to pop out to buy a few things and asked him to wait there on his own.
Harry gave a small nod.
"Good afternoon." A gentle voice sounded, and Harry looked up. An old man was standing on a ladder, studying him with interest.
The old man was very elderly, his face lined with wrinkles, but he seemed kind.
As he climbed carefully down from the ladder, Harry actually worried he might fall.
The old man came to stand before him, and his very pale eyes, round as moons, fixed themselves on Harry.
"Oh, Harry Potter. I've been wanting to meet you for a very long time.
"Your eyes are just like your mother's. She bought her first wand here as well.
"Ten and a quarter inches, made of willow—an excellent wand for charm work."
Ollivander stood in front of Harry, looking him over with genuine kindness; his eyes were full of curiosity.
Harry, however, couldn't help but complain inwardly. If possible, he really hoped Mr. Ollivander wouldn't stare at other young wizards quite like this.
When he was too close, those gentle eyes, being so pale, ended up looking a bit too cold—and he was sure that would scare some of the little wizards half to death.
If the blond boy were here, he'd probably wet his pants again.
Ollivander nodded in satisfaction, then moved away from Harry to a set of shelves, from which he took down a measuring tape.
"Your father was different. Mahogany, eleven inches, nice and supple, full of power—splendid for transfiguration.
"He liked that wand very much. Of course, it was the wand that chose its wizard."
Harry frowned slightly and didn't think much of that remark.
The Sorcerer Supreme had told him that magic itself had no inherent categories; it was shaped by the sorcerer. Even so-called evil magic, in the hands of a kind-hearted sorcerer, could bloom into something beautiful. The same was true of magical items.
If things were really as Mr. Ollivander said, then the chaos magic in his own body certainly wouldn't count as any sort of "good" type.
Its very nature was to twist reality, time, and space—chaotic and unruly. And yet, in his hands, it could heal others. He was hardly some wicked sorcerer.