Harvey was busy reading an Art Forum magazine, under a bit of discrete supervision from his mother (some of the ‘art’ displayed wasn’t exactly age appropriate), when a sharp tapping came from the other room. His mother, having developed an experience with the rather troublesome method of letters by owl, looked up from the sink (she was washing up after a quick breakfast) and walked into the living room of their fourth story flat and wasn’t surprised to see a screech owl tapping its beak against the windowpane. She bent down to undo the latch and pulled up the window; by this time the owl had already dropped the letter on the window sill and propelled itself out into the thin air. Leanne grabbed the letter and closed, fastened and shuttered the windows.

She wandered over to a chair and sat down, an excited Harvey in tow. And, just as she was about to break the seal, the letter gave a violent twitch and jerked out of her hands; contorting in mid-air to take the shape of a vaguely human face, reminiscent of origami, the seal (of purple wax with an M stamped in the center) looked to be lipstick. The face itself looked rather pinched and elongated and then, to the surprise of both Harvey and his mother, it began to speak.

“Mr. Downs, the Ministry would like to congratulate you as to your acceptance into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” Said, or well, recited the letter in the voice of a busy-sounding woman. “We here at the Ministry take the safety and security of our constituents very seriously and, because recent regulations have deemed it appropriate, a representative of the Department of Education will be accompanying you on your trip to Diagon Alley where you will be picking up supplies for your first year at Hogwarts School. You will be received on Friday, August 27th promptly upon nine o’clock in the morning.” On hearing this Leanne looked over to the clock. It was Friday, August 27th, one minute until nine. “Thank you for your time, Martha Hogwash.”

Just as the regal sounding envelope refolded itself and began a graceful tumble to the floor, just as the clock struck nine, emerald flames roared up in the hearth of the fireplace. Harvey had just enough time to mutter ‘whoa’ beneath his breath before a man in a lop-sided but none the less pointed hat ceased spinning like a top and stepped out of the fireplace. His mother reached up to her forehead, discretely assuring that she still had eyebrows, before looking at the robed and genuinely out of place wizard. She arched one of her thankfully intact eyebrows and stood, dusting some of the scattered soot off of her apron.

“Well, I take it you’re here to pick up my son?” She asked, a touch of a frown pulling at her lips. The frown of course vanished when she noticed that the man was busy inspecting her treasured assortment of miniature Santa Claus figurines; since she was a little girl her father had sent one every Christmas. She looked over to Harvey and motioned for him to run down the hallway and get out of his pajamas. He stopped staring and ran into his room, pulled two hangers out of the closet and got busy getting dressed.

A few moments later he emerged from the hallway in a pair of jeans and a shirt, his trainers laced. The wizard was busy answering his mother’s questions about times and places between picking up a figurine with his long-fingered hands and muttering ‘absolutely marvelous’ or ‘wonderful, wonderful’ or some combination of the two. He soon spotted Harvey; the boy was standing next to the fireplace, an eager smile already glued to his face. He seemed to be an appropriate youthful balance of excited and nervous.

“Well, ready and rearing.” Said the wizard and he leaned down to look Harvey full on in the eyes.

“Are you going to do that thing with the fire again?” He asked, smiling as ever.

“Well, yes, eventually.” The man replied. “That is what I meant to talk to you about. It’s a rather tricky business, Floo Powder.”

“Mhmm.” He said with a nod, he seemed to be listening and comprehending just fine so the wizard continued.

“Well, it’s important that you stand very still and tuck your elbows in against your chest and say what you mean to very clearly. Or you could wind up someplace else entirely!”

“Well, that sounds rather dangerous, sir.” Interjected Harvey’s mother, eying the fireplace skeptically.

“Well it’s perfectly safe if you do it properly.” He said offhandedly. “Now, you first boy. Diagon Alley is where we need to be going so say that loud and clear.” He watched Harvey step into the fireplace, tuck in his elbows, close his eyes and repeat ‘Diagon Alley’. Then open one eyes to see if he was in some magical land elsewhere. He wasn’t.

“Hrm, how odd-“ Started the wizard before blinking. “Oh yes! Floo powder, that’s right, that’s right.” He set about rummaging about his pockets before scooping a pile of green sand-like powder from a pocket that seemed to be brimming with the stuff. “Now, go ahead and toss it into the fire – once you’re inside, mind you as you say where you’re going” He dumped the powder into Harvey’s hand and took a step back.

“Diagon Alley.” Harvey repeated as he tossed down the fire and he vanished with a roar of green fire and a startled gasp from his mother.

Harvey seemed to be falling, or at least it felt that way. He also noticed he was spinning and, before he remembered to tuck his arms in, his elbow jarred against a brick wall. He realized he was falling down what seemed to be a tube of chimneys. He looked to the side and the walls varied from slate to granite to brick and even to mud before his very eyes. Each time he swore he could glimpse out of one of the fireplaces but was hurtling by too fast to get a proper look. Finally he felt himself begin to slow, his rotations decreased in number and he stepped out of a random marble fireplace. On the side of a wide-set and bustling street.

Men and women clad in robes of various make and fashion, hats of differing style and ridiculousness, were carousing what he assumed to be Diagon Alley. The shops were also a varying range of decors and heights, some taller than others and some that were just small stone buildings the size of a trailer, with a door to get in and out through and one window, a sign and taller buildings on either side. Harvey took it to be a rather marvelous sort of ‘organized chaos’. He liked it but at the same time felt dwarfed by all the people, shops and various taller and crooked buildings of three or four stories. Down at the end of the street a building stood, dividing the Alley into two smaller streets that veered off in random diagonal directions. It looked to be made of marble and was the tallest, grandest building of them all; supported by lop-sided white columns.

The sound of a fire behind him startled Harvey out of his silent, awed contemplation of strange people, tilted store signs and wizards and witches heralding the unequivocal quality of their goods. He turned around and wasn’t surprised to see the same wizard from before, readjusting his hat and drawing up beside Harvey with a slight grin.

“Well, welcome to Diagon Alley. Let’s see if we can get you some money, yeh?” He asked rhetorically before stepping away from the row of four oddly-placed fireplaces and down towards the large white building.

“And where do we do that?” Harvey asked as he struggled to keep up with the long-legged and rather absentminded wizard.

“Gringotts, of course; if you’ve got storage that needs storing there is no better place.”

The shop was dimly lit; the only light source a lamp precariously perched on the top of a stack of thin boxes. Muffled rays of sunlight streamed in through a curtained, dusty window; highlighting the specks of dust floating through the room. The shop itself was rather large, Harvey could see row upon row of shelves behind a service desk that bisected the large back of the store and the smaller customer's section. Even the waiting area was cluttered by the occasional ceiling-high stack of thing wand boxes.

The man from the Ministry walked up to the counter, which was bare except for an inkwell, tidy sheet of papers, feather quill and a rusting service bell. He brought his finger down on the bell. He turned back to Harvey and whispered a few quick words.

"Wands are a finicky area of magic, don't make much sense. Just do what Mr. Ollivander says."

"Mr. Ollivander?" Harvey asked inquisitively.

"The man that owns this shop." The wizard replied in a matter-of-fact tone. "He's been in business a long while, sold my father his wand." He began to inspect the boxes in the far corner of the shop, muttering to himself in his absent-minded way.

There was a quiet shuffling from behind the service desk and an old man emerged from the shadows of the tall shelves. His hair was a snow white hue and his skin was wrinkled with age. His eyes held an intelligent glow to them but he was undeniably old. He laid his palms down on the counter, long and thin fingers splayed out comfortably, and leaned against it.

"Can I help you?" He asked in a soft voice, at first addressing the Ministry wizard before looking down to Harvey. He almost he could see a twinkle in the old man's eye. "Ahh, it is the season for new wands, is it not?" He asked rhetorically. "Come into the light then, boy, and let me have a look at you."

Harvey stepped forward, only a tinge nervous, and into the light of the towering lamp. Ollivander made his way around the counter and stood, his back bent slightly, and pulled a tape measure from his pocket. He proceeding to take rather strange measures of Harvey's anatomy; taking the space between his index finger and thumb, the space between his nostrils and even the distance from his elbow and fibula.

"Well, I think I've narrowed down the selection then . . . ." He muttered, more to himself than the dusty room and his customer.

Mr. Ollivander shuffled back to the dark recesses of the shop and began to pick through his wares. He grabbed a box here, another one there, and so on until he amassed a pile within the cradle of his arms. Satisfied with his results, he laid them out on the desk and motioned Harvey over.

“Now, the wand chooses the wizard, m’boy, so this may take some time.” He looked down his nose at Harvey and gestured at the wands. “Go ahead.”

Harvey, spurred by curiosity, stepped towards the small pile of wands and slid one out of its box. He pulled it out and examined it in the light.

“A very good wand, boy; holly, dragon heartstring a good ten and a quarter inches. Give it a wave.”

Harvey gave the wand an enthusiastic flick. The vase on the other side of the shop exploded.

“No, that one won’t do . . . .” Muttered Ollivander and he slid another wand from the stack to Harvey. The Ministry wizard repaired the vase with an easy wave of his wand.

Harvey drew the wand out of its container and gave it a slightly reproachful wave. The following flash of light left dots in his swimming vision. Ollivander shook his head at that one, too.

“Not right at all.” He pulled that one away and pulled out another wand. “I think you’ll find this one to your liking, actually. It’s vine wood, unicorn hair, 11¾ inches. You’ll find it relatively flexible . . . one of my more recent creations, actually.”

Harvey pulled the wand from its box and gave it a swish through the air. It felt right in his hand, at least, as it formed a graceful arc in the air. It left a stream of silver lights glowing in the wake of its tip; they hovered there for a brief moment before drifting downward and winking out one by one.

“Well, that looks satisfactory.” Ollivander mumbled to himself before shoving the rest of the boxes to the side and arranging the cost of the wand.