Strawberries

The magical world just fascinates you. Hogwarts seemed like the better choice to explore the foundations and magical disciplines. You grew up exposed to both the muggle and wizarding world. Your father’s company even employ muggles!

“I don’t want to work at the ministry, it’s boring!” He said once. Good for him because that’s how him and mum met. They work together now.

You’re especially excited today because you’ll be visiting Diagon Alley to get school supplies. You can’t wait to find out the wand you’ll get or what familiar will connect with you.

You’re waiting in the living room for your parents. Your father walks over to you to give a quick kiss on the head. He also made a passing mention about the boy who lived being enrolled there this year too. You’re not sure if you remember his name, Harry Potts? Garry Howter?

“You’ll be in the same year as him. I can’t believe how much time flies since—” your father paused, mum was already downstairs and staring daggers at him. He quickly cleared his throat and smiled sheepishly at her. You vaguely remember hearing about the dark years in the wizarding world. Your parents rarely mentions it.

“Wear your best robe, my dear,” your mother raised her finger, a quick swish, and your dark blue robe flew down softly unto her hands, “we should make a visit to Diagon Alley today. We’re quite late shopping for your needs, I hope the best options are not out of stock.”

You nodded and took the robe out of your mum’s hand. “My letter did come a bit late. But, I’ve made a list of what I need,” you gave your parents a quick grin, “I can’t wait to shop!”

“Let’s apparate, it’s much quicker,” your father said.

“I agree,” your mum smiled warmly at your father.

As you were preparing to head out, your father’s phone rang. Seriously!

“It better not be work,” you grumbled.

“Hello? Yes, yes, what? No- Merlin! Are you serious?!” Your father’s tone does not sound good, and you definitely don’t like where this is going.

“Sweetheart, everything okay?” Your mum asked, concerned.

“We need to head in to the office, they’re asking for both of us,” your father answered softly.

You slumped. They’re always busy, and you don’t mind, but this absolutely sucks. Your parents were looking at each other, their faces concerned and you really don’t want to be in between their work. You have the list, you’ve been to Diagon Alley before—four years ago, but no matter.

“Look, mum, dad,” you rubbed your temple, “it’s fine, I can go and I know there’s a floo network close by that’s connected to Gringotts. I’ll cash out the money and head out to shop.”

Your parents looked at you. Their mouths opening to speak, but you really don’t want to hear it. You’re excited to go and you don’t want the day ruined.

“It’s fine,” you answered shortly, not wanting to show your disappointment.

“Okay, please be careful. Do you have your two-way mirror?” Said your mom, holding your face in her hands.

“Yes, mum,” you tapped your magic bag to assure her before squeezing her hands and slowly pushing them down.

“I think it’s best for you to exchange instead of going down to the vaults. Up to you, my dear.” Your father handed you the family vault key, a small golden key with 333 written on it.

You reached out to take it, but he’s right. “On second thought, you’re right. I really don’t want to go down that dingy mine vault,” you half-laughed, “I’ll exchange.”

He nodded and handed you a brown envelope, instead. “Keep this safe, sweetheart. There’s a few thousand pounds here, I believe £6,500. Don’t spend it all in one place and do not spend it on magical candies.” He grinned and you rolled your eyes.

“I won’t. Thank you, dad,” you answered, putting the envelope into your bag.

Money has never been an issue for your family. You know that early on, you’ve been privileged to access the best tutors and opportunities. Your parents pretty much homeschooled you and taught you everything you need to know in their free time. Pros of having parents from two great wizarding schools, you suppose. But right now? You really just wanted them to join your first year shopping spree.

“I’m off, bye both.” You smiled and hugged them before heading out.

“I love you,” your parents said together.

—

You managed to exchange your muggle money with galleons and a few sickles for change. You put them in your leather pouch. Your father said that it’s imbued with magic and cannot be opened by anyone outside of the family. Exiting Gringotts was a bit overwhelming, the amount of people in Diagon Alley is insane. You have your list in hand but you’re not sure where to start.

You sighed. “Maybe Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasion might be a good start,” you mumbled and make your way through the crowd. You see first years with their parents, walking hand-in-hand or a house-elf to accompany them. Lucky. But, your parents always hated the idea of owning a house-elf, they said it’s unethical and useless.

“A pathetic excuse many wizards use to slave and bully an exceptionally smart creature.” Your father mentioned once to you.

You pushed through the shop’s door. A quick ring from the doorbell and a small welcome from the little head sprites. You’re met with a whiff of new fabric. The shop was crowded, but you walked into the shop in awe, holding the strap of your bag closely. The elegant purple curtains draped over the shop, jewelries inside glass cases, and rows of various kind of robes.

You looked through the standard black robes, felt the fabric, and frowned. You turn your head around to scan other areas within the shop to explore. Where is the area with better fabric? The shop assistants seemed to be busy running around with pins flying around them, adjusting other first year students’ robes on the footstools. Others are behind the counter counting galleons and assisting who you think may be Madam Malkin herself.

While looking through the robes, you felt someone watching you from your peripheral vision.

“Hello,” said a boy with pale, pointed face, “Hogwarts, too?” You looked up. He glanced at your fingers holding the robes. “Yes,” you straightened.

“What are you doing touching and feeling the robes?” He asked curiously, eyebrows raised. “I don’t quite like the fabric in this row. I’m not sure where the good ones are,” you answered back.

“Hah! That’s Malkins for you. You’d do better at Twilfitt and Tattings, at least that’s what mother said,” he grinned proudly. You hummed in response, not paying much attention to him now, but noting on visiting this other shop.

“You should get yourself fitted. I’m going on next, I can’t believe there’s this many witches and wizards in here. I can’t stand it,” the boy drawls on, “this is why my family shops mostly in the south side, but a lot of school supplies are available around here.”

You glanced at him. He talks a lot. He signaled you to follow him towards the footstools. He didn’t bother to greet the assistants or Madam Malkin, just stretched his arms and had the robes immediately fitted for him.

“Hogwarts?” A woman asked, you presumed to be Madam Malkin dressed in all mauve. “Got the lot here.” She said before you can answer.

“Um, can you fit me for the enchanted robes?” You asked, finally standing on the stools to be fitted.

“Sure, my dear!” Madam Malkin answered, flying needles adjusting you to the robe. “I’ll take a few. It would be wonderful if you can add threadings to it,” you watch as the shop assistant run to get more robes for you, “silver would be nice, thank you. Oh! And, maybe add a few fastenings to the list? Dragon-hide would be very nice.”

“You’re asking for a lot,” said the boy next to you, cutting in. “Yeah,” you answered curtly, “don’t want to miss anything.”

He shrugged, seemingly not affected by your curt answers. Either he’s not affected or he’s literally dense. “Honesty, same. My father’s next door buying my books and mother’s up the street looking at wands,” he yawned, while looking out the window seemingly bored. “I’m taking them to look at brooms. I’ll bully my father into getting me one and smuggle it into school somehow,” he grinned, “I don’t see why first years can’t have their own.”

He irked you and you wished he would stop, but alas, he continued.

“Have you got a broom?” The boy went on.

“No,” you answered.

“Your books?”

“No.”

“How about your wand?”

“Not yet.”

“What about your familiars, gotten them yet?”

“No,” you sighed. You feel absolutely defeated answering this pale blond boy and wished your parents are here to help you out. There’s a behemoth of things to look for and doing this solo trip in a day is such a bad idea. You’re definitely coming home late.

“Where are your parents?”

“They’re at work,” you answered matter-of-fact. He raised his eyebrow at your answer, “Work? Are they muggles?” He added an emphasis on the last word. You don’t like his tone and how the words coming out of his mouth sounded dirty.

“No, they’re not,” you said shortly. Not wanting to explain to a stranger boy. He hummed in reply.

“Do you know what house you’ll be in?”

“No, do you?” You looked at him curiously. What first year would know which house they’ll be sorted into anyway?

“Well, no. No one really knows until they get there, do they,” you hummed weakly in agreement, “but I do know I’ll be in Slytherin, all of our family have been—imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I’d leave,” he snickered, “wouldn’t you?”

Seriously, what?

Before you can answer, Madam Malkin was right in front of you and said “Anything else, my dear? What would you like the threading be?”

“My initials would be wonderful,” you smiled, “it’s (Your initials). Thank you so much.”

“Beautiful,” she answered back warmly, before being cut off by the boy still standing next to you.

“Were your parents Hogwarts graduates too?” The boy tilted his head to you.

“No,” you answered. You were about to tell him where, but you shut yourself up.

“Hm, anyway, I really don’t think they should let the others sort in, do you,” he continued without giving you a moment to answer, “They’re just not the same, they’ve never been brought up to know our ways.”

“What do you mean?” You cut in.

“You know, some of them have never even heard Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine,” he clicked his tongue, like a know-it-all, “I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families.”

Now, he’s really pissing you off.

“What’s your surname, anyway?” He asked in a bored tone.

You know this is the make or break question for a lot of first year wizards and witches. It annoys you too. Britain’s rigid class, blood-status hierarchies, and stupid obsession with “blood purity.” You know your lineage, but having to call yourself part of an “elite pure-blood” family feels like a label for an exotic zoo animal. Your parents taught you better, and you know you’re probably no better than the next muggle born witch.

“What’s yours?” You challenged back, chin up, not wanting to give him an answer yet.