The gavel's final strike still echoed in Harry's mind as he and Arthur Weasley stepped out of the courtroom and into the colder, quieter corridor beyond.
"Well," Arthur muttered as they walked, "that could have gone worse."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "That was the worst they could do really."
Arthur gave a tired chuckle. "You're not wrong. But we've seen how these things can go when the Ministry's in a mood."
"They were in more than a mood," Harry replied dryly. "They were practically foaming at the mouth."
They reached the lift, and Harry leaned back against the cool wall of the elevator, arms folded.
"I think I saw someone take notes," he mused aloud. "Probably for a Daily Prophet article titled 'Ministry Humiliated by Teenager with Common Sense.'"
Arthur snorted despite himself. "Don't tempt fate. The Prophet will probably call it a 'dangerous display of arrogance by a troubled youth.'"
The doors opened to the atrium.
The Ministry floor was still bustling, though now more eyes turned toward Harry—not with curiosity, but unease. Disgust. Fear. A few cleared the path ahead of him, and that was new.
Arthur gave him a sidelong glance. "You planning to come straight back to Grimmauld Place?"
Harry hesitated for a moment.
"No," he said. "I'd like to stop by Diagon Alley."
Arthur blinked. "Is everything alright?"
"Need a new wand," Harry said. "And I could use a few hours… out. Away from the Order. Away from the house."
Arthur studied him for a beat, he wanted to say no, but he thought about giving Harry a little space and then nodded. "Alright. I've got a few things to handle at the Ministry anyway. But be careful, Harry."
Harry offered a small smile. "Always."
With that, they went their separate ways.
Freedom, for a While
The midday sun spilled golden light over the winding cobbled street of Diagon Alley. Harry breathed deeply, letting the sounds and smells of the place wash over him.
Shops called to passersby with magical displays, enchanted signs danced over their windows, and witches and wizards bustled about with bags of potion ingredients, spellbooks, and owl treats.
Harry wasn't really paying attention to the shops.
Not yet.
He headed first to Gringotts.
The moment he stepped up to Gringotts, he noticed it immediately.
The goblins guards that normally regarded him and other wizards alike with nothing more than a fleeting glance, tensed the moment he got near, he could see them gripping their weapons and quite literary quaking in fear? Interesting.
He had guessed that magical creatures could sense his nature better than humans but he hadn't been 100% sure. Now he knew it to be absolutely true.
The moment he stepped through the arched entrance into Gringotts, Harry felt the atmosphere change.
The temperature didn't shift. The sounds of clinking coins and muttered goblin calculations continued. But the tension was unmistakable.
Eyes turned. Whispers passed behind clawed hands.
The goblins—so often disinterested or cold—seemed to tense the moment Harry entered. Their yellow eyes flickered toward him, and their long fingers stiffened over ledgers and scales.
Harry walked forward steadily, expression unreadable.
A goblin with an iron ring through one ear approached quickly. He stopped short, gave a deep bow, and greeted him in a voice tinged with something dangerously close to reverence.
"Lord Potter. Gringotts recognizes the presence of your kind Devil king."
The murmur of the banking hall stilled. People were turning their heads no doubt trying to listen in and find out why a goblin, a creature known for their distaste of wizard kind was bowing to one.
Harry stiffened. Then, sharply, he spoke. "Stop that." He came here just for money nothing more, he didn't need this kind of attention right now.
The goblin blinked. "My lord?"
"I'm here for a withdrawal. That's all." He said glazing at the little green bastard. "Now take me to my Vault."
The goblin lowered his gaze, visibly struggling between protocol and Harry's command. "Of course. As you will."
Escorted with the kind of silence reserved for royalty, Harry was led to his vault. He withdrew a small pouch of gold and nodded to the goblin curtly before turning and walking back out before leaving the bank and into the bustle of Diagon Alley.
After that, he stopped for a butterbeer at a small café, savoring the warmth in his hands and the stillness in his chest.
He hadn't had a day like this before. Like just enjoying Diagon Alley.
He had been a part of this world for five years now and he had never gotten to actually go out and know these places.
And right now he was happy.
No dangers. No questions. No Dumbledore, no Order.
He let them all stew in the idea that he was still angry. Let them feel what it was like to be ignored for once.
Ollivanders: Wands Since 382 B.C.
The familiar tinkle of the bell over the door sounded as he stepped into the shop.
Ollivander emerged from the back almost immediately, his silver eyes gleaming with curiosity seemed to widen for a split second before it went back.
Most people would have missed it. Harry wasn't most people.
"Ah… Mr. Potter what can I do for you," he said.
Harry quirked an eyebrow. "I need a new wand. Mine… well, it...It's gone."
Ollivander's eyes glittered strangely. "A rare failure. Very rare. I can only imagine what happened you were up to for you to lose it. Curious… curious indeed." a strange glint in his eyes as if he knew something.
Harry didn't rise to the bait. "Well, I'm here to see if I can get another. So Let's just find something that works."
"Of course. Step this way."
He was led to a small counter, and the process began.
Wand after wand was presented to him.
A 12-inch vinewood with unicorn hair?
Exploded.
An ebony wand with dragon heartstring?
Burst into flames.
A phoenix feather core wand?
Crumbled to ash.
Ollivander's expression shifted from intrigue to something closer to awe.
"Your magic… As expected of a...." He paused before he continued. "As if… I doubt any wand can handle your magic right now. Well they might be a few"
Harry exhaled through his nose. "I noticed."
Ollivander tilted his head, thoughtful. "Not surprising, for one who has… changed so thoroughly. Mr. Potter. Your essence is... deeper. Denser. This makes pairing difficult. The wand chooses the wizard, yes—but it also must endure the burden of who you are."
Harry had no doubt this man knew but he was not going to give any answers.
Another wand snapped in two the moment Harry touched it.
At this point, Harry was considering giving up and simply just continue using magic without one like he had been doing so far.
But Ollivander finally stopped before one small, pale wand resting in a black velvet case.
"This one," he said quietly, "is... strange. Yew, Twelve inches. Core of basilisk scale… and a single tail hair from a golden stag found in Norway decades ago, It was belived to be a scared animal connected to the deity that was worshipped around there. It is a wand of power and instinct. It doesn't always obey—but it respects strength."
Harry reached out cautiously.
His fingers brushed the wand.
No shattering. No burning. No backlash.
It didn't sing. It didn't glow.
But it held.
And that was enough.
Harry exhaled and lifted it into his hand.
It felt... usable. Not perfect. Not harmonious.
But functional.
"Good enough," he murmured.
Ollivander bowed his head slightly. "You may find, in time, maybe a wand that would suit one of your caliber somewhere out there.."
Harry paid him no mind as he paid the man, slid the wand into his sleeve, and turned to leave.
Outside, Diagon Alley awaited. And for now, he had no intention of going home.
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