Secrets and Second Chances: Chapter Three Part Two

[jezebel_rising]

Part One

Part Two



~*~

With just the three of them, Harry, Neville and Hermione tended to stay close to the house. Neville took them on a long walk through the rough, wild land just outside the wizarding village. Harry’s breath had caught at the low, rolling hills covered in bright summer flowers and the green scrub brush. Neville was content to point out all of the native plants and their properties - Harry realized that once Neville was away from school - and Snape - the young Gryffindor had a spectacular mind for potions ingredients.

Theo visited for dinner the day Hermione had to go back to her parent’s house. Mrs. Longbottom insisted they stay in the house and kept close the entire time Theo was there - the Slytherin didn’t seem to pay the woman any attention, more intent on quizzing Harry and Hermione on the various “Muggle contraptions” he had been looking up. Theo also passed along a message from Draco - the Malfoy heir was bored and wanted to know, in detail, what they had been doing over the summer.

Then it was just Harry and Neville on their own. Harry was content to help Neville in the greenhouses, which was Neville’s main chore.

“You don’t have to, Harry,” Neville said as he pulled on his gloves.

“No, I like to garden. My relatives make me spend most of my time out weeding, as a punishment. I let them think that, so I don’t have to go scrub the garage floor. Again.”

“Young wizards should all know how to garden,” Mrs. Longbottom said from behind him. Harry jumped and turned to see the older witch holding out a pair of gloves. “Enjoy the sunshine, boys. It does a body good.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Harry said and took the gloves. Then they escaped to the greenhouses and the long, beautiful rows of plants and flowers.

A few days later they got their Hogwarts letters. Harry rolled his eyes at the long list of Lockhart’s books they were supposed to buy.

“That man,” was all Mrs. Longbottom had to say on the subject.

“Do you think Flourish and Blotts will have used copies?” Harry asked, thinking of his vault.

“Flourish and Blotts? Perhaps,” Mrs. Longbottom said. “But Midnight Tales are sure have a few, or Bell, Book and Candle.”

“Who?”

“Two used bookshops in the alley on the other side of Knockturn Alley,” Mrs. Longbottom was making biscuits.

“I thought we - ah. That Knockturn Alley was…”

“Full of tramps and thieves? Of course it is,” the woman slipped the biscuits into the oven. “But a few bad elements does not an entire body make. The world is far more than just good and evil, young Harry. You would do well to remember that.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry had to look away. What mistakes could I have avoided if someone had said that to me the first time?

They made arrangements to meet up with Hermione at Gringotts on the nineteenth. If Harry was lucky, he would be able to slip away to speak to Ollivander sometime during the day. Harry had been meaning to write the man the minute he had gotten free of the Dursleys, but time had gotten away from him.

They used the floo to connect with a public hearth at the corner of Knockturn Alley. Mrs. Longbottom had a brush with her to rid them of the worst of the soot. Then she straightened her hat and marched into the alley, leaving Harry and Neville to scramble to catch up.

When Harry had been younger - well, the first time he was younger - he had thought Knockturn Alley was little more than a short spur off Diagon Alley, full of the darker souls in the wizarding world. His first year as an Auror disabused him of that notion. Yes, Knockturn Alley held most of the undesirables, as well as a number of pubs where the local alcoholics drank from morning to night. But there was much more to the alley than Harry had been led to believe.

The number of shops that Harry had been told that contained evil, dark things turned out to all have legitimate reasons for having those objects. The shop of giant spiders was more of a pet store for the adventurous soul, once they got past the darkened facade and signs. The shop also catered to a number of non-human elements, many of which also used the shop as a type of butcher’s block. The goblins, Harry had learned, had much praise for the grades of spider meat the shop contained.

The shop with the shrunken heads and other items of dubious nature was more of a tourist trap, full of fake merchandise that was used to scare and tantalize the few brave souls who wandered in from Diagon Alley. The shop that held the poisonous candles turned out to have instructions included that specified how they were to be used for pest control - Harry had become a regular customer in the long hot days of summer when the mosquitoes were thick in the air. He had never mentioned where he’d gotten the candles that kept the pests from their porch or home. He knew Ginny would never understand.

As they trailed Neville’s grandmother through the alley, Harry also realized that Knockturn Alley was far longer than most would acknowledge. Most maps Harry had seen gave it a short length, but they were wrong. Past the poisonous candle shop, a sharp turn right looked as though it led to a dead end. But it wasn’t. The pub at the end was called the Double Doors, which, as it turned out, it was. The alley ended on one side of the pub, but a different alley opened up on the other.

“The Street of Flowers,” Mrs. Longbottom told them. “Keep up, now.”

Harry stared as much as he could as he trotted in the woman’s wake. The people around them were a mix, a few disputable characters from Knockturn Alley, but there were also families full of children going from shop to shop. Most of the retailers, Harry noticed after a while, were all second hand businesses, thrift stores and consignment shops. Sure, there were a handful, if less, of places on Diagon Alley that catered to the families whose budgets were tight, but Harry had never known this place existed, until now.

I was never given this area to patrol, Harry mused as he caught sight of an Auror pair on their rounds. I wonder why.

“Mrs. Longbottom?” Harry trotted to her side. “Why aren’t there more people here? This place is wonderful.” Harry peered into the window of one of the many junk shops.

“The Street of Flowers is one of those areas that the Ministry would rather disappear,” Mrs. Longbottom said. “Silly, really. My husband’s great-grandfather made his fortune on this street, as have many others in our family. There is no shame in it, despite what other families would say. Working your way into affluence, in my opinion, is much better than being born to it.”

“But…”

“Why are there not more people in the shops?” Mrs. Longbottom huffed. “Most families who shop here, young Harry, can only find the coin to outfit their children for school right before term. Also, many of these families do not send their offspring to Hogwarts or any other older wizarding schools. No, only those who can afford the tuition, or have a legacy for their descendants, may attend schools like Beauxbatons, Hogwarts or Durmstrang. Those who cannot afford tuition, receive a scholarship or secure financial aid, go to the trade schools here in London.”

Harry stumbled over a loose paving stone. “What, really?”

“Yes, indeed. My husband’s great-great grandfather helped found the first trade schools - but sent his son to Hogwarts and bought a legacy for all his line. Pure-blood politics and the corruption of gold,” she made a rude sound. “Come along. Our family has been patronizing the Street of Flowers for generations. I will not let that fail, even now.”

She led them to a robe shop. Harry peered around at the goods, all solid, sturdy cloth, none of the shiny, showy fabrics Madam Malkin preferred.

“I, uh,” Harry edged towards Mrs. Longbottom. “I need to go to Gringotts, ma’am. All I have is a few Muggle pounds and some sickles.”

“Oh, bother, that’s right,” Mrs. Longbottom shook her head. “Neville, stay here so Sally can measure you. Come along, Harry. There is a Gringrott’s entrance two doors down.”

Harry trailed after her. “Ma’am, if - if you say the Longbottom family shops here, how - how come I met you last year in Diagon Alley?”

Mrs. Longbottom stopped and looked at him. Harry edged back, but stopped when she laughed. “You are a quick study, aren’t you, Potter?” She tapped her chin. “You’re right. Last year we were on Diagon Alley, for Neville’s dress robes. The only inn worth staying at is Tom’s in the Leaky Cauldron, sad to say. For everyday things, however, the Street of Flowers is the place we normally shop.”

“I…see,” said Harry.

“Come, come, let us get your things,” the woman said and strode away.

They went to the bank where Harry grabbed a few galleons from his stack, more determined than ever to keep his purchases small and tidy. Then it was a whirlwind of clothes, potions ingredients and many more bits and bobs they would need for the school year. Harry kept a keen eye on the other shoppers - he recognized none of the families or children, but more than one recognized him. No one rushed them, however, for autographs or the like; most got a shocked look on their faces, then a brilliant smile for him, before letting Harry be a peace.

I rather like this area, Harry thought. No mobs.

Then it was time to meet up with Hermione in Diagon Alley. Mrs. Longbottom had their purchases safe in her clutch as they waded their way back through the twists and turns of Knockturn Alley and back out into the press of people that were gathered at the intersection near Gringotts Bank.

“There’s Hermione!” Neville nudged Harry’s side. Harry looked up to see their friend standing at the top of the white flight of stairs to Gringotts. She ran down to meet them, her bushy brown hair flying behind her.

“There you are! Hello, Mrs. Longbottom, nice to see you again. Are you going to Gringotts?”

“No, we’re all set,” Harry said.

“My mum and dad are here as well, if, ah, you don’t mind?”

“I would be delighted to meet them,” Mrs. Longbottom said.

“There they are,” Hermione waved to a dazed couple that had just exited the doors. “They were just exchanging their Muggle money.”

“Of course.”

“How are you two?” Hermione turned to Harry. “Are you eating more? You look healthier. Are you?”

“I’m loads better,” Harry smiled at her. “Really, Hermione. You worry too much.”

She made a face at him, but by then her parents had made their way to her side.

“Ah, hello,” Mrs. Granger was a kind-looking woman with the same bushy brown hair as her daughter. Harry’s throat tightened as he looked at his friend with her family - Hermione, he blinked fast and looked away. You were so brave. I’m not sure how many other people could have erased themselves from their parents’ memories and relocated them to another country, just to keep them safe.

“…all right?”

Harry turned back to see the Grangers staring at him. “Um?”

“He’s a good lad,” Mrs. Longbottom said and turned back to the adults. “Is this your first time in Diagon Alley?”

“No,” Mr. Granger’s expression was solemn as he let his gaze rest on Harry for a long moment. “We came with Hermione last year. The literature we were given, along with Hermione’s introductory letter from the school helped immensely.”

“Well, shall we go? School supply lists seem like they are getting larger and larger every year,” Mrs. Longbottom shook her head.

They let the adults roam on ahead. Hermione dropped back with them, content to follow in their wake. “So what have you been doing since I left?”

“Gardening,” Harry grinned.

“Harry.”

“No, really. I like it and Neville lets me help.”

“We’ve been on long walks around the countryside,” Neville added. “Oh, I should have shown you the standing stones, Hermione. I completely forgot.”

“That’s all right.”

“Maybe…maybe next summer?”

Hermione beamed. “I’d like that.”

Mrs. Longbottom was the perfect guide for the Grangers as she led them down Diagon Alley. Harry noted how people got out of Augusta Longbottom’s way - either out of fright from her rather menacing hat or her last name, Harry wasn’t sure.

The last stop of the day was at Flourish and Blotts. Harry’s heart sank at the large crowd that had gathered outside the shop - among them, a very familiar red-headed clan.

“What’s this, now?” Mrs. Granger asked.

“There’s an author here,” Hermione pointed at a large banner that was stretched across the upper windows. “See? It says Gilderoy Lockhart will be signing copies of his autobiography Magical Me today.”

“He’s not dead yet, how can he put out an autobiography?” Neville asked.

“He’s Lockhart,” Harry snorted.

“Harry,” Hermione scolded. “He’s - he’s an author, Harry,” she had a faint blush to her cheeks. “He’s written almost the whole booklist.”

“He’s a great,” Harry bit back the insult he wanted to spit out and shook his head.

“Well, there’s no reason for people to crowd so,” Mrs. Longbottom said. “Still, we do need to get your books, Hermione, yes?”

“Yes,” Hermione bit her lip.

“Let’s see if we can get in, then.”

The crowd was made up mostly of middle-aged women and young girls, all holding a copy of Lockhart’s book to their chests. Harry, Neville and Hermione were able to slip inside, Harry leading the way with his smaller, more agile frame. Mrs. Longbottom and the Grangers had stopped to say hello to Mrs. Weasley.

Inside a long line wound right to the back of the shop, where Lockhart was signing his books. Harry showed Hermione where the used stacks were, slipping out of direct line of sight from Lockhart and his fans.

“See? It’s not new, I know, but sometimes you have notes in the margins that can help with our studies.”

Hermione hummed in the back of her throat. “Well, I suppose it’s not cheating, exactly.”

“More like tutoring, when you think about it,” Harry nudged her arm. “It’s like time-traveling, in a way. A person from the past is helping us learn more in the future!”

Hermione laughed. “That’s an idea, Harry. Wherever did you get it? You know there’s no such thing as time travel.”

Harry ducked his head to hide his grin. If you only knew…

“Harry!” Fred popped up at the end of the aisle. “There you are, mate. Hello Neville; hello Hermione!”

“Fred!” Neville beamed at the older boy.

“All set with your gear, ickle second years?”

“Oh, come off it,” Hermione snorted.

Fred grinned. “Come on, then. We’ve found Lee and we were going to the junk shop if you’d like to come with us. Get away from all that,” Fred rolled his eyes as an older woman let out a sharp squeal as Lockhart said something to her.

“Yes, lets,” Harry said. Fred led them out of the aisle and into the main body of the store. They were almost past the press of the crowd when Harry heard Lockhart exclaim, “It can’t be Harry Potter!”

Not again, Harry wanted to groan. The crowd parted around them. An arm yanked him around, causing Harry to flinch back into Fred.

“Steady, Harry,” Fred put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. The nameless woman who had grabbed Harry shrank back, hands off him.

Harry turned to see Lockhart striding forward. Harry’s face burned as Lockhart shook his hand for the photographer, who was clicking away madly. Lockhart had shooed Fred away before claiming Harry for his own.

“Nice big smile, Harry,” said Lockhart, through his gleaming teeth. “Together, you and I are worth the front page!”

Harry had hated this man - still hated him, point of fact. Harry didn’t want to be on the front page, had never wanted to be there in the first place. That sticking point had been one of the first cracks in his and Ginny’s marriage - Ginny loved her reporting job, loved the press, the buzz of a busy party, the fancy robes and the glamour of being photographed by the press. Harry had hated it and the difference had been the basis of many of their earliest arguments.

Ginny, the old pain still made his stomach clench. Oh, Ginny.

Harry was jerked out of his thoughts as Lockhart let go of his hand and threw an arm over Harry’s shoulders, yanking him to the man’s side.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Lockhart waved to silence the crowd. “What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I’ve been sitting on for quite some time!”

Harry spotted a familiar blond head in the crowd, even as he tried to wiggle, discretely, from Lockhart’s hold.

“When young Harry here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today,” Lockhart continued on, blithely ignoring Harry’s escape attempts, “He only wanted to buy my autobiography - which I shall be happy to present him now, free of charge -,” the crowd applauded. Harry rolled his eyes. “He had no idea,” Lockhart continued, giving Harry a little shake that made his glasses slip to the end of his nose, “That he would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, Magical Me. He and his schoolmates will, in fact, be getting the real magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!”

This time I’ll help Snape be rid of you, Harry vowed.

The crowd cheered and clapped. Harry found himself being presented with the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart - all of which he’d already bought. Staggering under the weight, he made his way out of the limelight to the edge of the room. He turned to find himself next to Ginny Weasley, even as the rest of his friends struggled through the crowd to get to his side.

“Here, please,” Harry tipped the books into her cauldron. “Take these.”

“But - but - but…”

“I already have my set and I think Lockhart would have a fit if I pitched them,” Harry couldn’t look at her, directly. He just - he couldn’t.

“Bet you loved that, didn’t you, Potter?” said a voice Harry had no trouble recognizing. Harry turned to find himself face-to-face with Ron.

“Famous Harry Potter,” said Ron. “Can’t even go into a bookstore without making the front page?”

“Leave him alone, he didn’t want all that,” Ginny spoke up at last.

“What are you up to with my sister? Giving her your books? Why? What are you trying to do, Potter, you -”

“Ron.”

“As much as I’d hate to interrupt a family row, you’re drawing stares,” said Draco Malfoy.

Ginny’s face went scarlet. Ron’s face puffed up, eyes bright with rage as he turned. Harry twisted around to see both Draco and Nott- Theo, Harry amended - standing behind them with Hermione and Neville.

“You,” Ron pitched his own books into Ginny’s cauldron. He started towards Draco, but Harry jumped in front of him.

“Look, just wait,” he tried.

“Move it, Potter.”

“Ron!” said Mr. Weasley, struggling over with Fred and George. “What are you doing? It’s too crowded in here, let’s go outside.”

“Well, well, well - Arthur Weasley.”

Harry saw Draco flinch. They turned to see Mr. Malfoy pushing his way through the last of the crowd.

“Lucius,” said Mr. Weasley.

“Busy time at the Ministry, I hear,” said Mr. Malfoy. “All those raids…I hope they’re paying you overtime.”

“Father, please,” Draco was cut off by a sharp glance by his father.

“Apparently not,” Mr. Malfoy said, plucking Ginny’s used copy of A Beginner’s Guide to Transformation. “Dear me, what’s the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizardry if they don’t even pay you well for it?”

“Father.”

“Draco,” Lucius snapped. “Silence.”

“We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizardry, Malfoy,” said Mr. Weasley.

“Clearly,” said Mr. Malfoy. Harry could see Mrs. Longbottom, along with the Grangers, making their way through the crowd. Harry also saw Hagrid’s large form trailing behind them. “The company you keep, Weasley…and I thought your family could sink no lower…”

There was a thud of metal as Ginny’s cauldron went flying. Mr. Weasley had thrown himself at Mr. Malfoy, knocking him backwards into a bookshelf. Dozens of heavy spell books came thundering down on all their heads. There was a yell of, “Get him, Dad!” From Fred and George. Mrs. Weasley was shrieking, “No, Arthur, no!”; then Draco was there, “Father, stop, please!”; the crowd stampeded backward, knocking more shelves over; “Gentlemen, please!” cried the assistant, and then, louder than all -

“Break it up, there, gents, break it up,” Hagrid was wading towards them through a sea of books. In an instant he had pulled Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy apart. Mr. Weasley had a split lip and Mr. Malfoy had a bruise forming around his eye. Malfoy was still holding Ginny’s old Transfiguration book - and that was when Harry realized that Malfoy had planted the journal.

No, Harry started, unsure as what to do. Do I try to take it? What do I - how can I -

“Here, girl, take your book. It’s the best your father can give you,” Malfoy shoved the tome at Ginny and stalked off. “Draco, come!”

Too late, a voice in Harry’s mind whimpered. I’m too late, again. Then he sucked in a breath. I’ll find it, later. I won’t let Ginny be hurt, this time around!

“I - am so sorry, thank you, Hagrid…”

“Draco!”

The blond winced. He looked at Harry, who gave him a wry smile and a nod. Harry knew Draco had had nothing to do with Tom Riddle’s diary. Draco darted a glance around, even as his father bellowed his name once more, and gave Hagrid a brief hug and then bolted for the exit. Harry saw Theo roll his eyes at them all and follow in Draco’s wake.

Hagrid had a bemused expression on his face as he lifted Mr. Weasley from the books. “Yeh should have ignored him, Arthur. Old Lucius is rotten to the core, no doubt. Young Draco, though, shows some promise, I have to say. Nothin’ like his father, that one, I’ll have yeh know…”

The assistant looked as though he wanted to stop them from leaving. One withering glare from Mrs. Longbottom got him to back off.

The adults rounded up the children as they were hustled out of the store. They ended up on the corner, near the ice cream shop.

“A fine example to set for your children, Arthur. Brawling in public, what Gilderoy Lockhart must’ve thought…”

“He was pleased,” said Fred. “Didn’t you hear him as we were leaving? He was asking that bloke from the Daily Prophet if he’d be able to work the fight into his report. Said it was all publicity.”

Harry rolled his eyes and turned away as the adults huddled together, talking. He caught sight of Ollivander’s sign. Heat flared through him.

Ollivander, Harry clenched his hands into fists. I have to speak with him.

Harry glanced at the adults, and then edged close to Neville. “Hey, I have to go talk to someone. Would you cover for me?”

Neville blinked at him. “We - what? Alone? Harry…”

“Please, Neville. Just five minutes. I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?”

“To Ollivander’s. Please, I’ll be just a moment.”

Neville bit his lip. Hermione frowned at him, obviously listening in. “All right,” Neville said, even as Hermione drew in a sharp breath. “But no longer than five minutes.”

Harry beamed at him and bolted, seeing that the adults were still busy reassuring the Grangers that the antics in the bookstore were the exception, not the norm, in wizarding society.

The bell over the door to Ollivander’s tinkled as Harry pushed into the shop. The dim light and dust were undisturbed. It was quiet in the shop, the noise from the street muffled by either good insulation or spells.

“Mr. Potter,” came Ollivander’s soft voice.

Harry turned, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. Ollivander was right behind him. “I have some questions.”

The gleam from the man’s glasses hid his eyes. “Ask, then.”

“You said that in order to keep my memories this time around, I would have to do things differently.”

“Yes?”

“But…the results were the same. Mostly.”

A small smile touched Ollivander’s mouth. “There are many paths to one goal, Mr. Potter. You will find that time does not like to be altered, in any way. It will force you onto the same paths you once took - however, it is your duty to find a way to guide the path of time to a different result, if you wish to change the future that you saw.”

“But…”

“Your life has changed, has it not?”

Harry rocked back. “Yes.”

“And the pain restricts you from following the same paths as you have taken before.”

“But I’m still friends with Hermione. And Neville and the twins and -”

“Is it the same friendship as last time?’

Harry paused. “No,” he frowned. “No, it’s…different.”

“Thus, another path to the same end.”

“But when I try to befriend Ron - and what about Ginny - and my children -”

This time Harry saw the glow flare in the man’s eyes. “Different paths to the same place, Mr. Potter. You were willing to make a sacrifice to keep safe all those you love.”

“But if I’m cut off from Ginny, then my children will never live.”

“Will they, Mr. Potter? Would you sentence yourself to the heartbreak you know will come, merely in order to ensure that the children who come from Ginny Weasley’s womb come to call you father?”

Harry felt as though he’d been slapped. “How- how did you…”

“My family, as I told you before, is entwined with time, Mr. Potter.”

“But…they are mine.”

“No, Mr. Potter. They are not.”

“I don’t care about the paternity tests! They were mine,” Harry felt the threat of tears burn his eyes.

Ollivander took a step forward. “Mr. Potter. All those who came before will come again - not always as they were, but their souls are still the same. One way or another they will live again - or would you risk their lives, simply to reenact the events that broke your heart and destroyed your world, simply so you would be able to claim them once more?”

Harry’s legs gave out. He stared up at the man. “This is the price?”

Ollivander knelt in front of him. “Yes.”

“I’ll never - they were my children - they were,” his spoke past the lump in his throat.

“The life you had will never come again,” Ollivander tone was gentle. “But the children you love will live again.”

“Without me.”

“They were born without you in the first place, Mr. Potter.”

Harry sagged, letting his head drop down. His hands were curled into fists on his thighs. “If I do this, they have a chance to live.”

“Yes.”

“I have a chance to stop Hammerstein.”

“Yes.”

“But without them,” the reason I came back.

“Perhaps,” the man lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “And perhaps not. The permutations of all that you change can bring about many things. But I can assure you of this - they will live.”

The choices we make, Harry remembered Dumbledore telling him once. Define us. Hope stirred in his chest.

Harry raised his head and met Ollivander’s gaze. “It’s too late to go back, isn’t it? Too many changes have been made.”

Ollivander’s answer was one slow nod.

Grief and hope caused Harry’s throat to go tight. “They will live?”

“Yes, Mr. Potter. They will.”

“And maybe - maybe…I’ll be able to call them my own again?”

“There is always hope, young man.”

“But they’ll live,” Harry let out a painful breath. He scrubbed at his face with his sleeve. “I have to stop Hammerstein and Voldemort and the rest, first. And maybe one day…maybe they - and I…” He flinched when Ollivander’s hand came down on his shoulder.

“Different paths can go to the same place, Mr. Potter,” came the soft voice. “But they can also lead into different territories, different dangers. Be careful, young man. I shall always be here, should you need me.”

Harry met the strange silver gaze. Ollivander had been there, before, helping in his own way, Harry remembered. For one dizzying moment, Harry wondered if in fact this wasn’t his second time repeating his life, but his fifth or twenty-fifth, and what other secrets lay behind the kind old man’s eyes.

Then Harry took a breath and nodded.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Your friends are about to come looking for you.”

“I know,” Harry climbed to his feet. “I - I can come here again?”

“Any time you wish. But remember, Mr. Potter,” the man smiled. “You are not as alone as you think.”

“What?”

“What changes you have already made,” Ollivander’s smile grew. “I shall enjoy watching you grow, young man.”

A tap on the shop window broke the moment. Neville was outside with Hermione, waving at him. When Harry turned back to Ollivander, the man was gone, the shop quiet and still, as if he had never been there at all.

Chapter Four