Chapter 11: Pleasant visit in Diagon Alley
Rick sat hunched over his small desk, the scratch of his quill the only sound in his otherwise silent room. Outside, the steady drum of rain on the windowsill blended with the occasional rumble of distant thunder, creating a cocoon of quiet focus. Since returning to the orphanage three weeks ago, Miss Willson had made no effort to disturb him, a small mercy that granted him the solitude he needed to tackle the summer essays assigned by his professors. He could have finished them all within days, but he deliberately stretched out the work, savoring the chance to visit the public library and dive into supplemental reading far beyond the scope of his assignments.
Today, however, the weather had grounded him. Without an umbrella and knowing full well the librarians would never let a dripping kid inside, he had opted to stay in. His window remained open, letting in the soft hiss of rainfall and giving Morrigan a dry perch should she decide to return. The room had grown noticeably chilly, and Rick hovered in that lazy mental fog between comfort and discomfort, debating whether he should close the window or put on another layer. Eventually, inertia lost, and he stood with a sigh, moving to shut out the rain.
Just as his hand reached the window latch, the clear cry of an owl echoed through the downpour. Rick froze. There was something sharp and purposeful in that sound, too direct to be random. His heart skipped slightly, wondering if it was a post owl braving the storm.
He was proven right when a tawny owl emerged from the rain between two tightly packed buildings, wings beating powerfully despite the weather. The bird glided straight toward him, soaked but graceful, and Rick instinctively stepped aside to give it space. With practiced precision, the owl slipped through the window, circled once, and dropped a thick envelope directly onto Rick’s desk. Before he could so much as thank it or offer a bowl of water, the bird launched back out into the storm, disappearing into the gray veil like a ghost.
Rick closed the window with a soft clunk, sealing out the rain and returning to the hush of his room. He sat down, dripping slightly from where the owl’s feathers had brushed his arm, and eyed the envelope. The red wax seal bore the unmistakable crest of Hogwarts. His brow furrowed, curious but not anxious, as he cracked the seal and unfolded the parchment within.
Dear Mister Wald,
Please find below your final grades of your first year exams at Hogwarts’ School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Reminder:
Six different grades exist for each subject.
Passing Grades:
Outstanding (O)Exceed Expectation (E)Acceptable (A)
Fail Grades:
Poor (P)Dreadful (D)Troll (T)
Mister Rick Wald’s grades are:
Astronomy: OCharms: ODefense Against the Dark Arts: OFlying: OHerbology: OHistory of Magic: OPotions: OTransfiguration: O
Rank in the year : 1 / 83
Sincerely yours,
Minerva McGonagall,
Hogwarts’ Deputy Headmistress.
The results didn’t bring a smile to Rick’s face, not because he was unhappy, but because academic accolades simply didn’t move him the way they did others. Still, his thoughts turned immediately to Lily. He knew she was just as sharp as he was, sharper, maybe, and far more diligent in her studies. If anyone deserved to top the year’s rankings, it was her. The fact that he was ranked first made him uneasy, as if the universe had made a clerical error. Was it possible they had tied? And if they hadn’t, if she had come second, why? Had some arbitrary metric tipped the scales unfairly? He hated the idea that merit hadn’t been the deciding factor, especially where Lily was concerned.
Shaking off the spiral, Rick turned his attention to the second page of the letter, which detailed the list of supplies he needed to purchase for the upcoming school year. He scanned it quickly, mentally calculating what items he already had and what would need replacing. Tucked behind it was a third sheet: a short note from Professor McGonagall reminding him to meet her at the entrance of Gringotts at 9:30 a.m. on August 1st, a mere three days away. The neat, precise handwriting and the formal tone made him smile slightly. Even in something as simple as a logistical note, she couldn’t help sounding like she was issuing orders during wartime.
Removing the second page from the others, he placed it carefully on the desk, setting it aside as a visual reminder. The rest he slid back into the envelope and tucked securely into his trunk among his better kept belongings. With the clutter cleared, he pulled a fresh sheet of parchment toward him and dipped his quill into the ink, starting a letter to Lily in clean, deliberate strokes.
He considered writing to Marlene as well, but she had already sent a letter saying her family would be traveling abroad over the holidays. Amelia, on the other hand, hadn’t shared her address. And Rick hadn’t asked. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t want to risk putting her on the spot. If she didn’t want to give it, he'd rather not force the issue and potentially sour the fragile, steady rapport they’d built. So, for now, he turned all his attention to the one friend he could reach, pouring thoughts into the parchment for Lily.
Morrigan knocked on the window with her beak the very moment he found himself thinking about her, wondering where she might be, and whether she’d return soon. The timing was eerie, like always. Somehow, she always appeared just when he needed her most, or when he simply missed her. Over the months, Rick had quietly begun to believe their bond went beyond ordinary companionship. It wasn’t just loyalty, it felt like intuition, even premonition. The idea that she could sense his emotions, or perhaps even glimpse moments involving the two of them before they happened, didn’t seem as far fetched as it once had. It wasn’t the kind of magic taught at Hogwarts, but something older. Wilder. Personal.
He rose from his seat and opened the window while holding an arm for her to get on. She did while giving him a *caw* of thank you. Always happy to see her, he scratched her under her beak and kissed one of her wings.
“I have a letter for Lily, girl but it can wait. I don’t want you flying with that weather.”
*caw*
“I know you can, I just don’t want you to. Or perhaps do you miss her too?”
*caw*
“She is, isn’t she?” he replied with a chuckle.
It was only three days later, August 1st, the very day he was meant to go to Diagon Alley, that the sun finally broke through the clouds, scattering the gloom that had lingered like a curse. Rick rose at dawn, energized by the light and the significance of the day. After tying the rolled up letter to Lily to Morrigan’s leg and giving her a gentle stroke and whispered instruction, he watched as she took flight, her silhouette vanishing into the golden haze of morning.
He dressed with more care than usual, brushing the lint off his second best shirt and straightening the too short sleeves of his coat. At exactly 9:00 a.m., he made his way down to the orphanage lobby, offered Miss Willson a polite good morning, and stepped into the street with brisk determination. The walk to the Leaky Cauldron took ten minutes flat; he'd paced it out last week to be sure. Inside, the pub buzzed with its usual early hour clientele, witches comparing cauldron prices and a young wizard loudly debating wand core compatibility. Rick gave a familiar nod to Tom, the barkeep, who waved back with the same sleepy, toothy grin.
He slipped into the shadowed courtyard behind the pub, where ivy clung to the old brick walls like faded memory. Pulling out his wand, he tapped the precise sequence of bricks he’d memorized from McGonagall’s demonstration the year before. As the bricks rumbled aside, revealing the bustling artery of magical London, Rick couldn’t help but feel like he was stepping into another world all over again, only this time, it already felt like home.
Once the brick wall slid aside to reveal Diagon Alley in all its vibrant, chaotic glory, Rick stepped into the cobbled street with a quiet sense of belonging. He had fifteen minutes to spare before his meeting with Professor McGonagall, and instead of risking complete time collapse inside Flourish & Blotts, he opted for a safer distraction: Quality Quidditch Supplies.
He didn’t even need to enter. Just standing before the storefront felt like stepping into a dream. The spotless window gleamed brighter than anything else in the alley, and behind it hovered a row of brooms displayed like legendary swords in a glass case. Rick’s eyes locked on the Nimbus 1000. It was stunning, the entire broom was pitch black, from its smoothly polished handle to the tail of its precisely bundled straw. Silver lines danced along the grain in elegant curves and arcs, shimmering faintly in the sun. Even the footrests were silver, sharp against the dark wood.
It wasn’t just the look that captivated him. The specs beside the broom boasted a top speed of over one hundred miles per hour and the rare ability to rotate 360 degrees while hovering. It was sleek, powerful, precise, a predator in broom form. Released five years earlier in 1967, and still dominating the market, it had earned its legendary status. The price, 300 galleons, was as fearsome as its performance.
Rick knew the math. There was no way he’d afford that broom while still at Hogwarts. And by the time he saved up enough as an adult, he doubted he’d have the time or freedom to fly at all. But he stood there anyway, committing the image to memory, the gleam, the shape, the way it made his heart race, because for just a moment, it was his.
“Interested in Quidditch, Mister Wald?”
Turning his head toward the voice, Rick found himself face to face with Professor McGonagall, standing beside him in her unmistakable dark green robes that seemed to repel the surrounding bustle like a magnetic field. Her presence, as always, was composed and commanding, the sharp lines of her robes crisply accentuating her air of authority. Yet there was something subtly softer about her expression today, an almost imperceptible trace of fondness in the tight line of her mouth as she regarded him.
“Hello, Professor. Am I late? My apologies if I am.”
“You’re not. Just like you, I arrived early.” she replied, then with a nod of her head pointed to the store. Clearly she wanted an answer.
“I just like flying, Professor. There’s something freeing about it that Quidditch doesn’t quite capture. And to be honest, I find the scoring system flawed, the Golden Snitch is worth too many points. It feels like everything the Chasers work for can be wiped away in a second. It makes the rest of the game feel like decoration rather than real contribution.”
“That’s an argument that many made over the centuries.”
“Although… Frank Longbottom said that I would have good chances to make the team should I participate in the tryouts in September so I’m considering my options.”
“Did he now?”
Minerva’s interest visibly sharpened at that revelation. She had long known, thanks to Rolanda Hooch, that Rick was a remarkably talented flyer, but she had never seen him on a broom herself. If Frank Longbottom vouched for his skill, however, that carried significant weight. Frank was reliable, grounded, and astute when it came to talent; that was exactly why she had named him team captain, even though he was only a fourth year. Truthfully, her options had been limited, three of the previous year’s players had graduated, and another had already indicated a shift in focus toward NEWT preparation. Still, she didn’t regret her decision. Frank had proven to be a solid Keeper and a level headed leader. Since he had joined the team, Gryffindor’s losses had been less crushing, save for the unavoidable 150 point gaps caused by missed Snitches. In her eyes, that made him a stabilizing force. If he believed Rick could be an asset, then that alone was worth taking seriously.
“Yes. He said I would make a good seeker, but… He may have been joking because Amelia Bones was in earshot.”
She nearly smiled when she heard that, a rare twitch of amusement at the corners of her otherwise stern expression. The rivalry between Frank and Amelia had become something of an inside joke among the staff, particularly between her and Pomona Sprout, who once claimed she could write a comedy sketch based on their interactions. With the conversation gently concluded, the pair set off toward Gringotts, their footsteps blending into the ambient hum of Diagon Alley.
As they walked, Minerva cast a discreet glance at Rick’s clothes. The sleeves were clearly too short now, and his trousers had started to flirt with the tops of his ankles. It was the unmistakable awkward stage of a growth spurt. She wanted to say something, perhaps gently suggest a visit to Madam Malkin’s, but held back. It wasn’t her place, and she knew Rick well enough to suspect he’d already noticed. Still, she couldn’t shake the quiet pang of concern. At least his school robes would cover the worst of it, and for now, that would have to be enough.
“What should I do with the remaining money?” Rick asked as he put the big purse Minerva gave him inside his coat.
“You can either keep it for a later time or give it back to me for safe keeping.”
“I think I’ll do that. I don’t trust the others at the orphanage to not rummage through my stuff while I'm away and I don’t feel comfortable having it in my trunk.”
Minerva nodded, and with a polite farewell, Rick turned and set off on his own to begin his shopping. His first stop was the apothecary, a dimly lit but sharply scented shop nestled closest to Gringotts. Shelves stacked with ingredients, dried roots, shimmering crystals, corked vials of viscous liquids, greeted him like an old, slightly ominous friend. He moved through the store efficiently, collecting everything from standard potion bases to the more obscure items required for second year brews. From there, he made his way through the rest of the list, ticking off items one by one: new gloves, a replacement set of scales, a sturdier cauldron. He deliberately saved the textbooks for last, knowing full well that if he started at Flourish & Blotts, he'd never leave on time.
Flourish & Blotts was perhaps one of Rick’s favorite places in all of Diagon Alley, second only, perhaps, to the skies above it. While it didn’t rival the Hogwarts library in sheer volume, it surpassed it in variety and curiosity. Where the school’s collection was dense with formal textbooks and rigid academic volumes, this shop offered something livelier: a spectrum of magical thought that felt more human, more cultural.
Rick wasn’t especially drawn to legal tomes or Ministry penned rulebooks, but the shelves devoted to traditions, noble bloodlines, and magical history called to him like a siren song. There were books on long forgotten magical holidays, on ancestral rites and rituals, on the ideologies of old wizarding families, and even speculative works about blood magic, often framed as myth, philosophy, or cautionary tale. He wasn’t hunting for spells, he knew better than to expect practical knowledge on such controversial topics, but he was chasing context, motive, theory. He was trying to understand the why behind the how.
There was so much to puzzle over. So many questions that Hogwarts didn’t bother to ask. Here, he could spend hours wandering the aisles, letting titles spark thoughts, letting fragments of forgotten knowledge nudge him toward answers. Even when he left without buying anything, he always left richer.
“It seems like puberty started early for you, Rick.”
Rick tensed at the sudden whisper, the breath against his ear sending a ripple down his spine. As he lifted his head from the book he’d been buried in and turned toward the voice, he found himself face to face with Amelia Bones. She was so close he could feel the warmth of her breath against his cheek, the amusement dancing in her eyes leaving little doubt that she was enjoying catching him off guard. Her expression was equal parts smug and teasing, and for a moment, Rick forgot the page he’d just been reading entirely.
“Hello, Amelia,” he greeted, his face lighting up with such warm, unguarded joy that it pulled a smile from her before she even realized it. There was something effortlessly infectious about Rick’s happiness, like a sunrise cutting through fog. “What makes you think that?” he added, tilting his head slightly, eyes still twinkling with that honest delight that made it nearly impossible to stay annoyed at him for long.
Amelia locked eyes with him, then deliberately glanced down at the book titled Book of Desires resting open in his hands. Her gaze returned to him with a slow, deliberate raise of one eyebrow, a wordless gesture that radiated dry amusement and made her original question seem hilariously rhetorical. The implication in her expression was crystal clear: Really, Rick?
“Oh! No, not really. I was curious about the title but I didn’t know it was this kind of book.”
“And yet, you began reading it.”
"Well, yes. I’m curious how ritualistic sexual magic works,” he said, tone earnest and laced with curiosity, though a flicker of confusion passed over his face as he registered what he'd just blurted out. Unbothered by potential embarrassment, he pressed on, determined to clarify. “From what I understand of magic, and I’ll admit, that’s still not much, it doesn’t make sense. Magic is intrinsic, a part of who we are. How could a physical act like sex influence it directly? I mean, I can see how magic might affect us, it affects everything, but something mundane affecting magic itself? That feels backwards. And if it can, why sex of all things? Why not something else, something less… specific? It just feels narrow, like there should be a broader principle behind it that I’m not seeing yet.”
Amelia searched his eyes intently, as if sifting through layers of thought and emotion he wasn’t even sure he was showing. There was something measured and curious in her gaze, analytical, yet not cold. He could sense she was looking for something specific, but what it was eluded him completely. After a long, charged silence where neither of them looked away, Amelia finally leaned back and straightened up, the subtle shift breaking the spell of the moment without a word.
“I don’t know. I’m not as curious as you on the subject to have researched it.”
“But you are curious about it too!”
She hesitated, momentarily caught off guard by the ambiguity of the statement. She was certain Rick meant the magical theory, not the more personal implications, but still, there was a line, and it hovered uncomfortably close. A simple yes or no could be misread by anyone listening, even if Rick wouldn’t twist her words. He might, however, mention it again in front of others without thinking, and that could be a social disaster. Wanting to preemptively shut down the possibility, she made a split second decision to address the potential misunderstanding head on.
“Rick, that’s not exactly public conversation,” Amelia said with a note of caution, her voice quieter now. “I know you’re approaching it from a purely magical theory angle, but most people? They won’t see it that way. They’ll hear ‘ritual sex magic’ and immediately jump to the more... physical interpretations. You might not feel awkward, but others, especially girls, could find it uncomfortable or think you're being suggestive. It’s not about your intent, it’s about how it's heard.”
“Ah!” With widened eyes, he had realized what she meant, and quickly closed the book before putting it back on the shelf. “Thank you for pointing that out.”
“Had it been any one else, I would have called them a pervert. I know there are only two things on your mind however. Magic and flying.” the redhead replied with a chuckle.
“That’s not true. I think about my friends too.”
“Is that so?”
“Of course!”
“Why didn’t I receive any letter from you then?” she asked pointedly.
She would never say it openly or directly, but she genuinely liked Rick. There was something refreshingly unpredictable about him, he was sharp, sincere, and completely unfiltered in the best way. She was never bored in his company, and found herself unconsciously seeking him out when her day felt gray. The way he marveled at even the simplest magical detail, throwing himself into discovery with zero hesitation, reminded her of a child living his wildest dream. It was impossible not to be affected by it. His enthusiasm had a gravitational pull, quietly lifting her mood no matter how low it had sunk.
“I could ask the same question and the answer is the same. We didn’t exchange addresses. I didn’t think you’d be interested in a correspondence since you’re two years older than I am.”
She blinked in surprise, the truth of his words hitting her a beat later. A small groan escaped her as realization set in, and with an exaggerated sigh, she raised her hand and smacked her forehead, the gesture a mix of self reproach and reluctant amusement.
“Let’s change that, shall we?”
“I’d love to but I’m not sure that’s wise.”
“Why not?” she asked, masking her surprise at him declining the offer.
“I don’t want you to harass me with letters because I beat you on the pitch.” he answered with a cheeky grin.
Amelia did her very best to maintain composure, resisting the instinctive drop of her jaw in outright shock. Her expression twitched for a fleeting second before she pulled herself together, spine straightening with practiced grace. She fixed him with a narrowed stare, sharp and silent, one eyebrow raised just enough to convey a single, incredulous message: Did you really just say that to me?
“I’m not that type of person. I’m not a sore loser. Though that’s on the principle that you do beat me which is not going to happen. Are you even going to be part of your house’s team?”
“Professor McGonagall asked me something along those lines this morning and I answered that I was still thinking about it but… Now that you’re in front of me… I don’t know why but I want to play and compete with you.”
Amelia grinned at his answer, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. She had seen Rick fly, had even shared the sky with him, and she knew just how good he was. He wasn’t flashy, but precise, fluid, and fearless in the air. The idea of going head to head with him on the pitch wasn’t just appealing, it was exhilarating. She looked forward to testing her skills against someone who might actually keep up with her, or better yet, push her to fly harder.
“Then you better be on the team. I hope you’ll prove to be a good challenge.”
“I will!”
“Any idea on which post you’d like to play and which broom to use?”
“Chaser because they’re always in movement but I think I’m too small to handle the responsibilities of the role. One bludger and I’ll be out for the count. So I think I’ll try to be a seeker, besides it would be a proper duel between us.”
“True.” she nodded.
“As for the broom… A comet 180. It’s not as fast as a cleanswipe three or four but is lighter and has more maneuverability.”
She was about to ask him why he wouldn’t choose a more recent, high performance broom, but then it clicked, those were the models issued by the school. The Comet 180, the Cleansweep Three and Four: sturdy, reliable, but nothing flashy. His choice wasn’t one of preference, it was one of necessity. The realization settled like a weight in her chest. Once again, Rick’s situation cast a subtle shadow. Yet, she couldn’t help but appreciate his discernment. At least he had the good sense not to mention a Shooting Star, which, in her opinion, was less a broom and more a glorified twig with delusions of grandeur.
“I’m partial to the Nimbus 1100.” she said and Rick snorted.
“Of course you are. The Nimbus 1100 is the best broom on the market. It’s ugly as hell though. Why Nimbus gave it that design when the 1000 has the second best one in broomstick history is beyond me.”
“Second best one? Whose the first?”
“The Moontrimmer of course!”
“That antiquity?!” she replied in shock.
“Hey! It might be old but Gladys Boothby knew what she was doing when she designed its appearance. Have you taken a good look at it? So svelte and curvy in all the right places. No embellishment, no bump on the wood. It’s a work of art! Shame she was alone to make them.”
Amelia didn’t comment on that, though her thoughts were far from silent. She wholeheartedly agreed, the Nimbus 1100, despite its superior performance, looked like the product of a design contest judged by blind trolls. The 1000, with its sleeker form, was far easier on the eyes. But the Moontrimmer? That was where she drew the line. To her, it wasn’t minimalist, it was just plain. No embellishments, no flair, not even a hint of personality. It reminded her of a broom that had given up on life and style alike. Functionality was one thing, but she preferred her equipment to have at least a touch of elegance.
“To each their own I guess.”
“Yeah.”
Rick wrapped up his shopping with the final purchase. Afterward, he bid farewell to Amelia, who he learned was also there for school supplies. Their goodbye was short, lighthearted, and punctuated with a promise to meet again on the pitch, broomsticks armed and pride on the line.
Strolling back down the cobbled alley, his bag heavier but his mood oddly lighter, Rick spotted Professor McGonagall standing outside of Ollivanders. She appeared to be mid survey of the bustling crowd, her posture as composed as ever. Seizing the chance, he approached and handed her the heavy purse containing the leftover money.
“Better with you than buried in my trunk,” he said simply. She nodded in acknowledgment, and he wished her a good holiday with a polite, almost formal bow.
Then, with a last glance at the shops and stalls around him, Rick stepped back into the Leaky Cauldron and crossed the threshold into the Muggle world, his mind already drifting toward broomsticks, books, and the friends who made both a little more magical.