After McGonagall left, Mom had been on an emotional rollercoaster that swung wildly between pride and mild panic. Dad, on the other hand, had gone full "business mode," researching liability insurance and property damage clauses.
"Do we need magical insurance?" Dad muttered as he skimmed through his "How to Parent a Wizard" checklist.
"Dad…" I sighed, barely able to hide my exasperation.
"Because if something else catches fire—"
"Dad."
"—or if he summons another hurricane indoors—"
"DAD!"
He blinked.
"Right. Magic school. Got it."
To be fair, I didn't blame him. Considering I had almost nuked our living room with that accidental fireball, his concern was… somewhat justified.
The next morning, McGonagall arrived at 9 AM sharp, looking as composed as ever.
"Ready, Mr. Carter?" she asked, her gaze scanning me like a teacher assessing a potentially troublesome student.
"As I'll ever be," I mumbled, stuffing my hands into my pockets.
Dad, ever the cautious negotiator, gave her a tight smile. "And… everything in this Diagon Alley place is safe, right?"
McGonagall's lips twitched, her eyes twinkling ever so slightly.
"As safe as one can expect in a world where children wield magic."
"…Comforting."
The Leaky Cauldron was… exactly what I expected. Loud, chaotic, and slightly unsanitary.
Dad eyed the place like it was a health violation waiting to happen.
"If I get food poisoning, I'm suing," he muttered.
"Dad…" I sighed, dragging him toward the back where McGonagall tapped the bricks.
When the wall opened and revealed Diagon Alley, Dad blinked.
"Okay," he murmured. "I'm… mildly impressed."
"Just mildly?" I raised an eyebrow.
"Reserving judgment."
Gringotts was where Dad's business mode really kicked in.
"Good morning," Dad said smoothly to the goblin at the counter. "We need to exchange Muggle currency for wizarding money."
The goblin gave Dad a once-over, clearly unimpressed.
"Current rate: One Galleon equals five British Pounds."
Dad pulled out a hefty stack of cash.
"Alright," Dad said, sliding over £500. "Let's start with this."
The goblin counted the money, eyes narrowing slightly. Moments later, a pouch of gold, silver, and bronze coins was deposited on the counter.
"Five hundred pounds converts to one hundred Galleons, seventeen Sickles, and twenty-three Knuts."
Dad eyed the coins, his accountant brain no doubt working overtime.
"And how do I keep this… secure?"
"Rent a vault," the goblin said, looking bored.
"Vault?"
"Ten Galleons per year for basic storage."
Dad considered for half a second.
"We'll take the vault."
The goblin didn't move immediately. Instead, he glanced up, sharp eyes narrowing slightly as they swept over me.
"Wait," he murmured, almost as if to himself.
"Something wrong?" Dad asked, instantly on alert.
"One moment," the goblin said, standing abruptly. "Follow me."
We exchanged glances but followed him deeper into Gringotts, past rows of counters and goblins eyeing us with vague disinterest. He led us into a private room lined with dark stone, a large ornate pedestal in the center.
"What's this?" I asked, eyeing the intricate symbols carved into the pedestal's surface.
"A verification ritual," the goblin replied crisply. "To confirm lineage and vault access. Place your hand here."
My eyes flicked toward Dad.
"Is this… normal?" Dad asked, his voice edged with suspicion.
"Standard procedure for identifying potential family vaults," the goblin said smoothly, though something about his tone suggested it wasn't entirely standard.
I hesitated for a second, then placed my palm against the cool stone. The carvings immediately flared to life, glowing with a faint golden hue. The warmth was… familiar.
Sunlight.
A pulse of energy rippled through my veins, spreading outward as the glow intensified. The goblin's eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable.
After a moment, the glow dimmed, and a key materialized from thin air, landing with a clink on the pedestal.
The goblin's expression was… intrigued.
"This," he said, holding it up, "is the key to your family vault."
"Family vault?" Dad blinked.
I frowned.
"Wait… we have a vault?"
"Indeed," the goblin replied. "It appears your grandmother had an account with us."
Mom's head snapped up.
"Mom?" she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Looks like magic runs in the family," I murmured, feeling a strange sense of… connection.
Dad's eyes narrowed.
"So… we're rich?"
"Moderately," the goblin said with a faint smirk.
"How did we not know about this?" Dad asked, his business instincts flaring to life.
"Your grandmother was… discreet," the goblin said carefully. "The account was dormant until magical lineage was verified. Hence… the ritual."
Dad's jaw tightened.
"Discreet. Of course."
"Vault 472," the goblin added, placing the key in Dad's hand.
As we left Gringotts, Dad muttered, "At least that part felt normal."
Ollivanders was everything I had imagined and more. Stacks of dusty boxes lined the shelves, and the whole place felt… alive.
"Ah," a soft voice murmured. "New customers."
From the shadows emerged an old man with wild silver hair and pale, almost unnerving, eyes. His gaze landed on me, and for a moment, I felt like I was being evaluated.
"Ah… yes," Ollivander murmured, his gaze lingering a little too long.
"Um… hi," I mumbled, feeling suddenly very self-conscious.
"Forgive me," Ollivander said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "But I don't believe I've had the pleasure of meeting you before."
"Uh, yeah," I muttered. "First time."
"Muggleborn?"
"Yeah."
"Curious…" Ollivander murmured, tilting his head like he was solving a puzzle.
Dad cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable.
"Ethan Carter," I said, stepping forward and trying to sound way more confident than I felt. "Nice to meet you."
Ollivander's gaze sharpened.
"Ah… Ethan Carter."
"Why did you say my name like it's ominous?" I muttered.
"Let us find your wand, Mr. Carter," he said softly, ignoring my question entirely.
The first wand was yew, 10 inches, unicorn hair.
I waved it.
A shelf exploded.
"…Okay then."
"Hmm," Ollivander murmured, already pulling out another box.
Hazel, 12 inches, phoenix feather. I barely touched it, and the curtains caught fire.
"OH MY GOD!"
"Minor inconvenience," Ollivander said, already moving on.
"Minor?!" Dad hissed, frantically patting out flames.
Ebony, 11 inches, dragon heartstring.
Dad's hair stood on end like he'd been electrocuted.
"ETHAN!"
"…Oops."
Vinewood, 9 inches, veela hair. The shelf collapsed.
"Next."
Maple, 10.5 inches, basilisk fang cracked the floor.
"Seriously?" I muttered.
Ollivander's expression grew more intrigued with each failure.
"Curious… very curious."
"Curious good or curious we're about to die?" Dad asked, looking ready to drag me out.
Ollivander pulled a box from the highest shelf, his expression… thoughtful.
"Ah… yes," he murmured. "Mahogany. Eleven inches. Phoenix feather core… with something else."
"Something else?"
"Dragon scales," Ollivander said softly. "Very rare. Very powerful."
I took the wand.
The moment my fingers touched the wood, a pulse of energy shot through me.
Warmth flooded my body, and golden sparks danced around me. It wasn't just warmth—it was familiar.
Like sunlight… but stronger.
"…Whoa."
"Ah," Ollivander murmured, smiling. "Yes. That one."
"For the record," Dad muttered, "I am never letting him wave that thing indoors."
With the wand sorted, we moved on to Eeylops Owl Emporium.
"Can I get a pet?" I asked hopefully.
"We'll see," Mom said, eyeing the prices.
That's when I saw it.
In the far corner of a dusty, half-forgotten shop was a cage. Inside sat a bird—sleek feathers that shimmered blue and gold, and eyes that practically glowed.
"Uh… what is that?" I asked, pointing.
The shopkeeper blinked.
"…Dunno," he admitted. "Found it near the Forbidden Forest. No one's been able to identify it."
"Is it dangerous?"
The bird blinked at me.
Then tilted its head and chirped.
Adorable.
"I'll take it."
"Ethan…" Dad warned, his tone weary.
"Come on! She's cute!"
"Fine," Dad sighed, clearly giving up.
"Two Galleons," the shopkeeper said quickly, looking relieved to get rid of her.
As I peered into the cage, the bird met my gaze and blinked again.
You have no idea what I am… do you?
…Okay. Maybe I imagined that.
Flourish and Blotts was next, and while we grabbed all the standard books like:
"Standard Book of Spells, Magical Theory… History of Magic?" Dad muttered, scanning the list.
"Don't forget Fantastic Beasts!" I grinned, grabbing a copy.
"Do I need to be worried about you bringing home a dragon?" Dad asked, eyeing me.
"Probably," I muttered under my breath.
I also found a dusty, neglected corner with less advertised books.
"Occlumency: A Beginner's Guide to Shielding the Mind."
My eyes narrowed.
"Occlumency?"
"Something catch your interest?" Dad asked, glancing over.
"Uh… yeah. Just… curious."
Dad raised an eyebrow but didn't push.
I tucked the book under my arm.
"Better safe than sorry…"
We also picked up a trunk—polished black with silver trim, expandable compartments, and bottomless space.
"Practical," Dad said approvingly.
By the time we finished, Dad looked like he needed a vacation.
"Okay," Dad muttered, rubbing his temples. "We survived."
"Barely," Mom murmured, eyeing the receipts.
As I hugged my new books and glanced down at my new bird—who blinked at me with way too much intelligence—I realized something.
Hogwarts.
Magic.
And… something bigger stirring inside me.
Something… waiting to be awakened.
This year was going to be very interesting.