Harry Potter and the Cataclysm

Two days later in the morning, Professor McGonagall led Carnie to the Leaky Cauldron. The pub was tucked between a bookstore and a record shop, on a street they had visited before. In fact, they had even bought books from that store, yet Carnie had never once noticed the rundown little pub beside it.

People bustled past on the busy street, but not a single passerby seemed to notice the pub, as if it didn't exist.

"This place is protected by enchantments. Muggles can't see it," Professor McGonagall explained. The term Muggle was something Carnie had learned about during their conversation two nights ago.

Pushing open the door, Carnie was immediately hit by the sight of a dimly lit, somewhat grimy-looking pub. The place wasn't exactly what he'd call inviting, and there weren't many people inside, but that was probably because it was still early in the morning. He followed McGonagall to the bar, where she greeted the barkeep.

"Good morning, Mr. Tom!"

"Morning, Professor! Got a lot of new students coming in this year, I see," the old barman replied as he polished a glass.

McGonagall didn't linger, leading Carnie through the bar and into a small enclosed courtyard with high brick walls on all sides. Apart from a lone trash bin propped against one of the walls, the space was empty.

"Mr. Stran, you must remember this—three up, two across."

She tapped her wand lightly against a specific brick on the wall, following the pattern she had just described.

The brick trembled before shifting backward. The surrounding bricks then began rearranging themselves, pulling apart to form an archway that revealed a bustling street beyond.

Even before they stepped through, the sound of chatter and lively commerce filled the air.

"So, this is Diagon Alley? Where are we heading first?" Carnie asked, his eyes widening as he took in the lively scene. It was back-to-school season, and the streets were packed with shoppers.

"First, we need to go to Gringotts and exchange Muggle money for wizarding currency."

"Where's Gringotts?"

"We're already here—it's the largest building in the area."

Carnie looked up and immediately spotted the towering white structure, standing high above the surrounding shops. It had four massive, slightly slanted pillars at its entrance, giving it a rather imposing presence.

Inside, goblins busily handled transactions, their distinct features making them stand out even more. They were short, even shorter than Carnie, with pointed ears and long, hooked noses.

After exchanging a sufficient amount of Muggle money for Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts, McGonagall and Carnie split up. She went ahead to buy books and cauldrons, while Carnie was tasked with getting his uniform and wand. His first stop was Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.

"You're here for Hogwarts robes, dear? I have the best ones in stock!" A plump witch approached him enthusiastically. This must be Madam Malkin.

"Yes. Do you have pre-made ones for first-years? If so, I'll take those directly." Carnie wasn't keen on wasting time getting measured—he figured as long as the robes fit well enough, that was good enough for him.

"Oh, of course, but they might not be a perfect fit," she warned, rummaging through a selection of robes in varying sizes.

"These will do. Can you wrap them up?"

"Certainly."

With the robes in hand, Carnie left the shop and made his way to Ollivanders.

As he stepped inside, he spotted an elderly man scribbling something with a quill at the counter. Hearing the door creak open, the man looked up.

"Ah, a new Hogwarts student." The old wandmaker left his desk and walked over, scrutinizing Carnie. "And you are?"

"Carnie Stran."

"Well then, Mr. Stran, which hand do you use?"

"Right-handed," Carnie replied as the old man pulled a tape measure from his pocket.

"Extend your arm. Let's take some measurements."

The measuring tape moved on its own, taking precise measurements from his shoulder to fingertips, wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and even his head circumference. As the tape worked, Ollivander spoke.

"Each Ollivander wand is crafted with a powerful magical core—this is what gives a wand its essence, Mr. Stran. We use unicorn hair, phoenix feathers, and dragon heartstrings. No two wands are ever the same, as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are exactly alike. A wand that chooses its rightful owner will perform at its best, but one meant for another wizard will never yield the same results."

Once the tape measure finished its work, Ollivander put it away and began scanning the shelves.

"Let's try this one—hawthorn wood, unicorn hair, eight inches, fairly flexible."

He handed Carnie a wand with a carved handle. Carnie immediately frowned. He didn't like wands with handles—it felt like they cheapened the design. Still, he took the wand in hand, waiting for a reaction.

Nothing.

"Give it a wave," Ollivander instructed.

Carnie cautiously swished the wand at the wall, but again, nothing happened.

"No, no, not the right one." Ollivander quickly retrieved another. "Ebony wood, phoenix feather, seven inches, quite flexible."

This one had no handle, smooth and uniform from top to bottom. The weight felt evenly distributed, and the wood grain was aesthetically pleasing. More importantly, it felt comfortable in his grip. Carnie examined it briefly before attempting to cast something—he focused on a nearby chair, willing it to levitate.

The chair floated up, slowly but surely, responding to the movement of his wand.

Ollivander's brows knitted together in intrigue. He had been watching Carnie's expressions closely and now looked even more curious. Taking back the wand, he inspected it again, then tried channeling magic through it himself.

Nothing happened.

"How peculiar," Ollivander murmured. "Very peculiar indeed… Let's try another—holly wood, phoenix feather, eleven and a half inches."

This wand had a handle again. Carnie waved it, but the result was the same—no reaction.

"I'll just take the one that worked earlier," Carnie said, watching as Ollivander turned back to rummage through the shelves again.

"Just one more," Ollivander insisted. "Yew wood, dragon heartstring, nine and a half inches."

Carnie took it, but it felt a little thick in his grip. He gave it a wave—no reaction.

At that moment, Professor McGonagall entered the shop, having finished her errands.

"Good morning, Mr. Ollivander. Has he found a wand?" she asked.

"Yes, he has," Carnie said, picking up the ebony wand from earlier.

Ollivander hesitated before sighing in resignation. "Seven Galleons."

He seemed slightly unsettled, as if deep in thought, but he let the matter drop.

As Carnie left the shop, Ollivander watched him go, his gaze lingering, lost in thought.