A week later, a young man with sandy hair, blue eyes, glasses, and no distinguishing features got off a plane at Heathrow Airport. After pickin up his luggage and going through Customs, he stopped quickly in the restroom. While he was washing his hands, he looked up in the mirror and was startled by the face reflected there. That’s still a little disconcerting, Brook thought, seeing a totally different face staring back at me in the mirror. One of the precautions that the Headmaster had suggested was a change in appearance. “You look too much like your father. Even if you keep Brook Pelton as your name, people would recognize you as a Potter, just like Tonks and Avery did.” So, Dumbledore had enchanted his class ring so that, whenever he wore it, he had a completely different look. His hair and eyes were different colors and his scar was hidden. Dumbledore had changed his passport magically so that it matched his new appearance.

After leaving the restroom, he looked out for his contact. He was told to look for an older woman with her hair in a bun carrying a sign with his name on it. He eventually spotted her and walked up to her. “I am Brook Pelton. Are you Professor McGonagall?”

“I am indeed. I am pleased to meet you. Professor Dumbledore has shared your secret with me Mr. Potter, but I’ll call you Mr. Pelton so that I don’t slip up. Let’s get your luggage and then we will go to Hogwarts.”

“Pelton will be great as I am not used to Potter just yet. I doubt I would remember to answer to it if you did call me that or Harry.”

After picking up his suitcases, the professor led him down a deserted corridor with a dead end. “Why are we here?” Brook asked. “This hallway takes us nowhere.”

Professor McGonagall turned around, checked to see no one was watching, pulled out her wand, and muttered something while waving it in a complicated swish and twist. The entrance to the corridor became hazy and the people walking by looked fuzzy. “That will prevent anyone from seeing us.” She then pulled out a round glass sphere, which Brook identified as a snow globe. “This is a portkey. It is just one of the methods of magical transportation that you will learn about, but it is one of the few that can get you into Hogwarts. Just put your hand on the globe while holding on to your luggage. Don’t let go until we reach our destination.”

Brook did as he was told, putting his hand on the globe. The professor tapped it with her wand and suddenly Brook felt a tugging sensation from his insides, as if a hook was trying to turn his navel inside out. There was a swirling of colors around him and he felt like he was falling through space for a few seconds before he tumbled to the ground, his luggage landing next to him. He found himself in a round office with all sorts of weird looking gadgets, some of which were moving on their own and spewing puffs of smoke. He pulled himself up off the floor and, as he got his bearings, he noticed that Professor McGonagall was there as well. He then heard from behind him, “Welcome to Hogwarts, Harry, or should I say, Brook.” He turned and saw Dumbledore, sitting behind a large desk. Directly behind the desk was a large portrait of a man dressed in robes and a pointed hat with his eyes closed. He looked a little closer and the man seemed to be breathing, and then, he snored loudly before quieting. “What is that?” Brook asked.

“That is a portrait of Armando Dippet, the headmaster of Hogwarts before I took the position,” answered Dumbledore.

“But why is he snoring?”

“Headmaster Dippet was always fond of an early afternoon nap. Oh, you mean why is a portrait snoring and not stationary. Well, that is just one difference between the Muggle and magical worlds. Our portraits can move, talk, and interact with you. You will get used to it.”

Brook then heard a squawk and he turned to find, next to the desk, a perch with a large scarlet bird with orange and gold feathers on its belly. “This is Fawkes, one of the few phoenixes alive today.”

There was a silence and Brook didn’t know what to do. Feeling a little awkward, he said, “Pleased to meet you, Fawkes.” The bird responded by bowing its head and trilling, which seemed to calm his nerves a little.

“Would you like to unpack and move in before dinner?” Dumbledore asked.

“Sure, I am a little hungry. Where should I take my stuff?” asked Brook.

“To answer that, you need to be sorted.”

“What is ‘sorted’?”

Professor McGonagall piped in. “At Hogwarts, we have four houses. These houses are the people you will live with during your stay here. Each house has its own dormitory. They will be like your family. There are various competitions between the houses, including the House Cup, which is awarded at the end of each year. You will gain points for your house by doing well and lose points by breaking rules. Each of the four houses has different personality traits that it holds high. For Hufflepuff it is loyalty, for Ravenclaw it is intelligence, for Gryffindor it is courage, and for Slytherin it is ambition. To determine which house is best for you, the Sorting Hat is placed on your head and it will sense your character traits.”

A voice then came from behind him, saying, “Thanks, Minerva, for stealing my thunder. I was going to try out my new song for next year, but, since you told all about the houses, it would be redundant.”

Brook tried to identify the source of the voice and then saw Professor McGonagall remove a charcoal grey pointed hat from a shelf. The folds of the hat moved, looking sort of like a mouth as the voice continued, “I don’t often get called into duty except at the Opening Banquet. Who do we have here?”

“This is Brook Pelton. He is an American who just discovered he was a wizard. We are going to tutor him over the summer to help him catch up with the seventh years, which would be his class had he started at age eleven.”

“I don’t often get to sort someone so old. This will be a pleasant change.” Professor McGonagall placed the hat on Brook’s head. As soon as it was atop his head, Brook heard a voice in his head. “Well, this is difficult. You seem to be trying to fool me with your appearance, but you can’t hide your mind behind a spell. Let’s see, I see that you have great magical power and could go far in Slytherin. You are cunning as well. But, while it is challenging to sense because of that glamour spell, you do have a strong current of courage running through you. It is almost as if you had parents that were Gryffindors. Is this true? I thought you were American.”

My parents did attend Hogwarts, but I didn’t know them, Brook thought. Were they in Gryffindor?

“They must have been. I can sense your courage as I only do in students who have two Gryffindor parents. Where should we put you, Slytherin or Gryffindor?”

I would prefer to be in my parents’ house, if I have any say in the matter.

“Gryffindor, it is!” the hat said aloud.

Professor McGonagall looked very pleased as she said, “Let’s get you settled into the Gryffindor dormitory then. You can leave your luggage here.” She led him down some stairs and through what seemed like a maze of corridors. As they walked, the professor said, “I am the head of Gryffindor house, so you can come to see me if you need help with anything.” Brook couldn’t help staring at his surroundings as they walked. He saw more moving portraits, some of which welcomed him to Hogwarts. Some of the flights of stairs were switching positions, even as they were walking on them. “You’ll get used to finding your way around over the summer. It does get confusing, especially with the moving stairs.”

“Professor, did you know my parents?”

“Oh, of course, I knew them.”

“What can you tell me about them?”

“Let’s get to your dorm before I say anything.” After a few more turns, they stopped before a painting of a large woman. “Here we are. This is the Fat Lady. This is Brook Pelton, a new seventh year who will be staying here this summer in preparation for the coming year.”

“Pleased to meet you, Fat Lady,” said Brook.

“I prefer ‘Gravitationally Challenged’ if you must know” the painting grumbled.

McGonagall frowned a little. “She will only allow you into the Gryffindor common room if you know the password. Right now the password is ‘Blatherskite.’ ”

When she said this, the painting moved aside, revealing an entrance into a large room, furnished with many tables and chairs for studying, comfy arm chairs, sofas, and a large fireplace. Everything was decorated in a gold and red motif. “This is the common room, where you can study and spend free time with other students. Over here is the stairway to the boy’s dormitories. The seventh years’ room is the one at the top of the stairs. Your belongings should already be there waiting for you. While you are unpacking, we can talk more about your parents.”

Brook walked up the stairs to his new dormitory. As he opened the door at the top of the stairs, he saw a room with five four-poster beds, complete with thick red curtains around each bed. Next to each bed was a bedside table. At the end of one of the beds was his luggage, as Professor McGonagall promised. I guess this must be my bed. As he opened his suitcase, Professor McGonagall waved her wand and sat down in an ornate wooden chair that he hadn’t noticed when he walked in. “Before I tell you about your parents, I want to discuss your secret. While only faculty is here during the summer, it is still important to keep your disguise on while you are here. The fewer people that know your secret, the better. Also remember that there are other eyes in the castle. For instance, if one of the portraits were to see your real face, they could spread the news throughout the castle in just a few minutes. Just be careful and only take off your ring if absolutely necessary. And be careful with what you say in the hallways, because those same portraits have very good ears. That is why I didn’t want to say too much while we were walking. Also, at dinner I am sure the other faculty will want to get to know you, as students are a rarity in the summers. Just answer their questions as you would as Brook Pelton and avoid any answers that might reveal your true nature. Professor Dumbledore and I will help if you look like you need it.” Brook nodded that he understood. “So, what would you like to know?”

“Well, I guess to start, the Sorting Hat asked me if my parents were in Gryffindor. And what were they like?”

“Yes, both James and Lily were in Gryffindor, and I was their head of house just like I am yours. James, as you have probably heard, looked quite a bit like you, including the glasses and messy hair. He was very talented, but a little cocky, especially when he was younger, and tended to skate by on the least effort possible. But by the time he graduated, he had become a very powerful wizard with his head and heart in the right place. His best subject was Transfiguration, which is what I taught, so I had a soft spot for him, though I never let him know that. He also got into his fair share of trouble; he loved a good prank. I always felt like he and his friends kept me on my toes.

“Lily was a jewel of a student. Even though she was Muggleborn, or maybe because of it, she was the brightest and hardest working student in her class, excelling especially in Potions and Charms, but almost always had one of the top marks in any subject she took. She was also very kindhearted, helping her fellow students and serving as a mentor to the younger students. But she could have a temper, which your father seemed to be an expert at bringing out,” she said with a chuckle. “I still recall some of their spectacular rows that could be heard echoing through the halls. I’m not sure what turned it around, but by the time they left Hogwarts, their relationship had changed, and I don’t know that I have ever seen a couple more in love. I didn’t see them much after they left school, but I do remember noticing how happy they were at a certain little tyke’s first birthday party. You were their entire universe, Harry, and they would have sacrificed anything for you. And, I guess, they did exactly that.” She suddenly got up from her chair, wiped at her eyes and said, “My, my, where has the time gone? It is time for dinner, and I have kept you from that much needed nap. Sorry about that, Pelton.”

“That’s alright, Professor. Thank you for sharing about my parents. It means a lot to me to get to know them, even just a little.”

Professor McGonagall led him through another seeming maze of hallways to a huge room that was mostly empty. The tall walls on each side led up to what Brook originally thought was open air, as it revealed a blue sky with some wispy clouds. But as he looked closer he saw that it was actually a ceiling that must have been enchanted. On one end of the room was a stage with a long table that overlooked the rest of the room, but that table was empty. In the center of the otherwise empty room was a circular table with twelve chairs around it. Brook noticed candles above the table lighting the dining area, but when he looked closely, there was nothing supporting the candles as they seemed to be just floating in the air. Seated at the table were several adults of varying ages and sizes, all wearing robes and a few with conical hats. Brook felt a little underdressed in his polo shirt and jeans. Professor McGonagall noticed him looking down at his clothes and whispered, “Don’t worry about your clothes, Mr. Pelton. We are allowed to dress casually over the summer, but old habits die hard and most wizards and witches prefer to wear robes.” As they reached the table, Professor McGonagall introduced Brook to Professors Sprout, Sinistra, Babbling, Flitwick, and Burbage. Just as they were sitting down, Dumbledore strolled in, sat down, greeted everyone, and said, “Tuck in!”

Brook was a little confused as the only items on the table were plates and silverware, but then, magically, of course, several platters and bowls of food just appeared in the center of the table. The professors reached for whatever was nearest, took some, and started passing things around. Brook was amazed at the amount and variety of the food, and, being a typical teenaged boy, took full advantage of the feast. The professors all seemed very friendly and most of their questions focused on life as a Muggle in America, especially Professor Burbage, who he learned taught Muggle Studies, so Brook didn’t have much difficulty keeping up his part of the conversation. The only challenge was when Professor Flitwick asked how he ended up here at Hogwarts. As Brook fumbled for an answer, Professor Dumbledore spoke up. “You will have to excuse Brook’s hesitance. You see, he just recently lost both of his parents in a car accident. It was only then that it was discovered that he was a wizard and, since his closest relatives are British, it was decided that he come to Hogwarts instead of attending school in the States.” Brook looked down at his plate, trying to stem the tears that were threatening to fall. With all of the excitement of today, I haven't even thought about my parents for the last few hours, he thought. This filled him with tremendous guilt. Professor McGonagall must have detected Brook’s feelings as she reached over, patted him on the back, and then said, “Perhaps Mr. Pelton would like to return to his dormitory; it has been a long day for him and I talked his ears off this afternoon, preventing him from taking a nap. Some sleep is in order, I am sure.”

When they reached the Gryffindor common room, Professor McGonagall indicated that he should sit down on one of the couches. She sat next to him and, after an awkward silence, she said, “I want to reiterate what I said earlier. I am your Head of House and I am here for you if you ever need me. I know I can’t fill the hole from the loss of your parents, but if there is anything I can do, let me know.”

“I think I’ll be alright, Professor. Thank you for your concern and I will take you up on your offer if I need it.”

“See that you do, Pelton,” she said as she stood and headed for the portrait hole. “Good night, Brook.”

“Good night, Professor.” After the painting closed, Brook trudged up to his empty dormitory and fell asleep wondering about how different his life would have been had Voldemort not killed his birth parents.

**********

Brook found himself standing in the middle of a fog bank. The fog was so thick he could hardly see a thing. He didn’t know where he was, but he felt like he was waiting for something and his heart was pounding in his chest. He then heard a pop to his right he turned quickly toward the sound. Out of the fog appeared a woman, with long, straight red hair that shimmered in the moonlight, a disarming smile, and chocolate brown eyes that seemed to see right through him. She walked up to him as he stood just staring at her. She took his hand and he felt a spark of energy pass between them. “Ready? Let’s end this, together!” she said and they started walking into the fog hand in hand. All of his fears and anxiety faded and a strange calmness came over him. As they walked, a dark, foreboding building suddenly appeared out of the fog. The woman looked over at him, grinned, squeezed his hand, and then turned back to the building with a look of determination on her face. As they came to the massive wooden door, it creaked open toward them, revealing nothing but darkness behind it.

Brook blinked and instead of darkness, all he could see was red, and then remembered where he was: in his bed at Hogwarts. It was just a dream, he thought. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that she would follow me here. The dream of a woman screaming in a green light wasn’t the only recurring dream he had. Actually, the second was a series of dreams that he had been having his whole life. He remembered from an early age dreaming of a little red headed girl. His oldest memories of her was when he was three or four years old and in his dreams she would be playing with a doll or watching her mother doing things around the house. His parents thought he had an imaginary friend when he would talk about her, until he was old enough to explain that he was actually dreaming about her. As he grew older, so did she, as she was always about the same age as he was. He remembered watching her do chores, reading, or swimming in a pond. Sometimes he would see things that could only happen in dreams, like her house which looked like it might have been painted by Salvador Dali, or pots and pans flying around a kitchen, or the girl picking up what looked like Mr. Potatohead and then throwing it over a fence. He never wanted the dreams to end because he always felt pleasure just watching her. The next day after one of these dreams was always a good day as the sense of calm he felt upon waking continued through that day. Normally, he was not a morning person, but his mom could always tell when he had one of these dreams because he bounded down the stairs with a huge smile on his face. On these mornings she would tease him, calling him “Charlie Brown” because of the comic strip character’s unrequited love interest. Other times, she would rib him that he was dreaming about the girl he would marry, like she had on the night of the prom, and, even in the years that girls had “cooties”, that idea never bothered him.

The only change in these dreams was when he was about twelve. For about six months, his dreams of her were more like nightmares as he would feel her anxiety and fear, but he always awoke before he could see what she was so afraid of. He slept very poorly for that period of time, and it affected his attitude as he was always seemed to be grouchy; his grades even slipped. His parents had discussed having him see a therapist, but one day, the normal pleasant dreams returned.

Over the last few years the little girl had grown into a beautiful young woman. He would see her sitting in classes or roaming around the hallways of an old building which reminded him of a museum with paintings and tapestries on the walls and suits of armor. He thought it was odd that she was typically dressed in what looked like long black dresses during the school year, but he figured it must be some type of school uniform. And this past summer some of the dreams seemed to be typical adolescent fantasies as he would see her in a very revealing bikini while lying by the pond she had frequented when he was younger. Over the last few years, it seemed she would appear in his dreams whenever he was struggling with something and, the next day, his problems didn’t seem to matter. He had often thought it strange that he would have two recurring dreams with such different results on his mood.

So, it was with this good mood that he hopped out of his bed and prepared for his day. After several wrong turns, he found his way to the Great Hall for breakfast. Just a few of the faculty were there this morning, as most chose either to sleep in or get to work early on their own projects. Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Sprout were there, but the rest of the faculty were elsewhere. Professor McGonagall invited him to sit next to her and asked how he slept in his new dorm.

“I slept wonderfully, Professor. The beds here are the most comfortable I’ve ever slept in.”

“Glad to hear that, Pelton.”

“Professor, I do have a question for you. When I was unpacking last evening, I was looking for electrical outlets to plug in my clock radio and a reading lamp, but I couldn’t find any. Where are they?”

“Well, Brook, the reason you didn’t find any outlets is that there aren’t any. You see, we don’t use electricity here at Hogwarts. But we don’t miss it, as we use magic to make up for it. For instance, we can use a simple spell that causes a light to come out of wands instead of a reading lamp.”

"Oh, okay." I guess I should have paid closer attention to the packing list that the Headmaster gave me. I did notice that there were no electronics on it, but I figured that it was just an oversight, since the list didn't include much in the way of personal items.

Brook, as he continued to eat, started to get a little concerned. He had come down early today because he was supposed to meet the Magical Creatures professor who was to take him shopping for supplies he would need for the summer. As he ate and there was no sign of the professor, he wondered if he was being stood up. He was anxious to get his wand and books so he could get started learning magic and was concerned that everything was going to be delayed. He then heard loud footsteps approaching from outside the Great Hall and the doors opened, revealing a huge bearded man striding forcefully into the room. He was at least 10 feet tall and almost as wide and was wearing a large fur coat with many pockets, despite it being a warm summer day. “Mornin’ everyone! The Headmaster asked me ter escort a student named Brook ter Diagon Alley fer some shopping today, and I am guessin’ that would be yeh,” he said holding his hand, the size of a ham, out to Brook. “I’m Rubeus Hagrid, but everyone just calls me Hagrid. Pleased to meetcha.” Brook felt like his whole body was being shaken by the huge man, making him a little dizzy.

“I am pleased to meet you as well, Professor Hagrid,” wresting his hand away from Hagrid.

“None o’ this ‘Perfesser’ stuff, just Hagrid. Finished with breakfast? Shall we go then?”

“Sure.”

“Follow me then.” Hagrid led him out the doors of the castle to a hut near the edge of a forest. As they approached, Brook heard the barking of what sounded like a very large dog from the inside of the hut. “This is where I live. It’s humble, but it’s mine. Don’ let Fang worry yeh; he’s jus’ a big softie.” The moment Hagrid opened the door, an enormous black hound leaped on Brook, pinning him to the ground and then proceeded to try to lick Brook’s face off. “Gerroff him, Fang,” bellowed Hagrid, pulling him by the collar off of Brook. “Sorry ‘bout that. Fang loves making new friends.” Hagrid handed him a towel to dry off with and then stepped up to the fireplace. “We’ll be going by Floo; there’s the powder,” pointing to a flowerpot on the mantle. “Yeh go on ahead first and I’ll be right behind yeh.”

Brook had no idea what Hagrid expected him to do. “Excuse me, sir, but I was raised as a Muggle, so I don’t know what the ‘Floo’ is.”

“Sorry ‘bout that. I forgot you are new to the magical world. To travel by the Floo network, you take some Floo powder, throw it in the fire, and then yell out where yeh want to go, in this case, Diagon Alley, and then jump in the flames. It’ll take yeh right there.”

“You want me to jump into the fire?”

“Yeah, how else are yeh gonna get into the Floo network?”

“Okay,” Brook replied nervously. “So I take some powder. How much do I need?”

“Jus’ a pinch will do.”

Brook took a pinch of the powder, threw it into the flames, which then turned an odd green color. Brook was reminded of those fake logs you can buy that burned different colors. He said, “Diagon Alley,” and jumped into the fire. He felt a twisting and flipping sensation as he saw quick glimpses of places until after a few seconds he found himself thrown out onto the floor of a different room with a stone floor. It’s going to take some time to get used to these different transportation methods, he thought. That’s twice in two days I’ve ended up on the floor. He picked himself up, brushed off the soot that he had accumulated, and then found that he was being pushed down again as Hagrid came through the Floo, hitting him to the ground again. “Yeh’ll have ta’ learn to move outta the way a little quicker, yeh will, Brook,” said Hagrid.

Brook looked around the room and found he was in a dark, old fashioned looking pub. It reminded him of something he might see in a Victorian era movie. “Hey, Hagrid! The usual?” the barkeep said from behind them.

“Can't, Tom. I'm on Hogwarts business," he replied patting Brook on the shoulder. "This be Brook Pelton, a transfer student to Hogwarts. Perfesser Dumbledore asked me to take him shopping fer school supplies.”

Hagrid led Brook to a back room of the pub. At a brick wall, he stopped, and tapped on a brick with his umbrella three times (which he was carrying despite the blue skies), and to Brook’s surprise, the bricks separated, revealing a city street crowded with people. The street reminded him a little of a living history museum, like Williamsburg, with shops on either side of the street and people walking to and fro, all wearing robes similar to those he saw the professors wearing last night at dinner and some wearing conical hats. Brook walked behind Hagrid, turning his head and taking in the sights. “First stop, Gringotts Bank to get yeh some money.”

“Oh, I already have money. Before I left from home I had some dollars converted to pounds so I could buy things here.”

“Pounds won’t work here. You’ll be needin’ Galleons instead. Gringotts can convert yer pounds to galleons if yeh want, but I was told to take yeh to yer vault so yeh could make a withdrawal.”

“I have money in a wizarding bank?”

“Yeh, Dumbledore told me that yeh have a vault, but that yeh would have to access it yerself. For some reason I am supposed ta wait in the lobby for yeh.”

As they reached the end of the street there was a large white building that towered over the rest of the shops. They went through large bronze doors and then a set of silver doors before entering a lobby with a marble floor. Across the floor was a long row of counters with small creatures that had bald heads except for hair just above their ears, prominent foreheads, large pointed ears and hooked noses. “What are those?” Brook whispered to Hagrid.

“Those are goblins, quite clever creatures. They’re in charge of Gringotts.”

Brook hesitated, but Hagrid said, “Go ahead. Oh, wait; you’ll be needin’ your key.” He checked a few different pockets in his coat before finding the right one, pulling out a small gold key. “Vault 687, remember.” Then, he nudged Brook to move toward the counter.

Brook walked over the counter, found a goblin that was not busy and cleared his throat to get his attention.

“What can I do for you?” asked the goblin.

“I am supposed to access my vault to make a withdrawal.”

“Which vault?”

“Vault 687, sir.”

The goblins eyes widened. “Oh, we were told to expect you. Please come back to the Head Goblin’s office.” The goblin got off his stool, walked around the end of the counter and waved his hand for Brook to follow him. He was led to an office with two chairs and an ornately carved desk that would be perfectly suited for an old castle or English manor, except that it was about half the size of a normal desk. Brook sat down as instructed by the goblin and the door closed as it left. After a few minutes, another door behind the desk opened and another goblin entered, this one much more wrinkled and the little hair he had was snow white.

“Welcome, Mr. Potter, to Gringotts.” Brook startled a little when his real name was mentioned. “Don’t worry, Dumbledore told us of your true identity and that you would be coming today. Your secret is safe with us. Goblins can be trusted with any secret; if we couldn’t then our whole business would crumble. Anyway, you will be taken shortly to your trust vault, which your parents established for your use until you reach the age of adulthood at 17. At that time you will be able to access your family vault. The trust vault has plenty of money for you, since it was originally established to provide for you for seventeen years, and you just have a few weeks until your seventeenth birthday.”

“But I am already seventeen.”

The goblin looked down at a parchment on his desk and after scanning for some information, looked back up. “Not according to our records. You will reach the age of maturity July 31st.”

Oh, that’s right. My parents just picked the date of April 20th as my birthday because it was their wedding anniversary, Brook thought. They never knew my real birthday.

“Ok. How do I get to my vault?”

“Griphook will take you,” pointing to the door, where another goblin had seemed to appear out of thin air. “I hope we will be able to serve you and your family well for many years.”

The goblin by the door waved his hand, saying, “Follow me.”

Brook followed him down a corridor until they came to what looked like a railroad track with small carts, like in a coal mine. Griphook got into a cart and waited for Brook to get in as well. The car then started to move on the track. It picked up speed and then dove down hills, sped around turns, winding through many different tunnels. The ride down to Brook’s vault reminded him of the Mine Ride rollercoaster that he rode many times at the amusement park near their home. As the cart came to a sudden stop, Griphook and Brook got out, Brook with a huge smile on his face. That was fun! A lot better than portkeys or the Floo. I may have to make some more withdrawals in the future, he thought.

Griphook led him over to a large door with the number 687 next to it. “Key, please,” he demanded. Brook gave him the key and Griphook opened the vault, revealing a room filled with piles and piles of gold and silver coins. And this is just my trust; imagine what the family vault must look like, thought Brook. “How much should I take out?” he asked the goblin.

“Most students take out a few handfuls to get them through the school year,” he replied.

So Brook grabbed a few handfuls, put them in a sack that Hagrid had given him, and got back in the cart for another wild ride back to the entrance. After arriving back in the lobby, he found Hagrid and asked, “Where to next?”

“We should be goin’ ta Flourish and Blotts, the bookseller first. This list the Headmaster gave me is pretty long. Basically he wants yeh to get every year’s book fer charms, transfiguration, and defence, so that’s quite a lot.”

After finding all of the books on the list, Brook wondered how they were going to do any more shopping as there were over 20 books and took both of them to carry them all. But Hagrid had a plan for this and he had the clerk shrink them down so that they could all easily fit in one of Hagrid’s pockets.

“Next is Madam Malkin’s fer some robes.” At Madam Malkin’s, Brook went in by himself as Hagrid was too big to get through the doorway. Brook was measured for his robes, and he was amazed at how the salesperson just told the tape measure what to measure. When he was asked what house he was in, he responded Gryffindor, and the salesperson tapped the robes with her wand and the trim instantly changed from plain black to red and gold and a patch with a lion appeared on the left chest. The saleswitch asked if there was anything else he was interested in, showing him the Gryffindor section and he picked out several red and gold ties and a few sweaters and cardigans with the same lion patch. He had been warned that the castle could be drafty in the winter. He had been informed by Dumbledore about the school uniform before leaving home, so he already had plenty of Oxford shirts and dress slacks. After paying for his clothes, the saleswitch shrunk these purchases as well for easy carrying.

As they walked down the street, Brook noticed a crowd of young children gathered in front of a store named Quality Quidditch Supplies. Brook looked in the window to see what they were so excited about, seeing in the window some colored robes with numbers and names on the back, some odd shaped balls in an open suitcase, and several brooms.

“It’s the brand new Firebolt 2C! It’s supposed to be even faster than the original Firebolt, and puts those Nimbuses to shame,” he heard one boy say. “The '2C' supposedly stands for its top speed of 200 miles per hour!”

“Yeah, but it’s supposed to be really hard to control, though. Only professional Quidditch players are able to handle all that speed,” another boy said.

Brook asked, “Hagrid, what is Quidditch?”

“Why, it’s only the best wizarding game there is. See, yeh’ve got a team o’ Chasers that try to put the Quaffle in the hoops, while Keepers protect the hoops an’ beaters hit Bludgers at the Chasers and Keepers. And o’ course, then there is the Seeker who catches the golden snitch and ends the game, usually winning it fer his team.”

Brook was a little confused but decided that maybe it was like hockey or maybe lacrosse. “Why the brooms? Are they used to hit the balls?”

“Oh, no! The brooms are fer flying!”

“You mean that witches really do fly on broomsticks?”

“And wizards too. How else are yeh supposed ta fly since flying carpets are banned? Yeh’ll see. Each of the houses at Hogwarts has a Quidditch team and the games are attended by almost all o’ the students. Gryffindor hasn’t won the Quidditch Cup for quite a few years, but I heard that they think they have a chance this year, if they can just find a Seeker.”

Walking on, they came upon Eeylops Owl Emporium and Hagrid suggested they go inside. “Every boy should have his own owl. That way yeh can send and receive letters.”

Brook wasn’t sure why he needed an owl; it wasn’t as if he knew anyone in the wizarding world, but to humor Hagrid, he agreed to enter. As they were looking around at the wide selection of different owls, the shopkeeper yelled, “Watch out! That owl got out of its cage somehow and is dangerous!” He was pointing at a beautiful snow white owl that was flying around near the ceiling, circling the shop. All of a sudden, it began to dive right toward Brook. Brook was ducking to avoid it when it opened up its wings and landed gracefully on his shoulder. It then started to nibble gently on Brook’s ear.

“Stop that,” Brook giggled. “That tickles!”

“Well, I’ll be,” said the shopkeeper. “I’ve had that owl for over seven years and she bites and claws at every person who took her out of her cage. I’ve never seen her react to anyone like that before. It looks like she has picked you. Interested in her?”

“I don’t know; I don’t have much need for an owl,” Brook said. “Ow!” The owl had just bit his ear and, if an owl could glare, this one certainly was. “Maybe I should buy her. If I don’t I might not make it out of the store!” With that she started nibbling and nudging Brook’s hair again.

“That confirms it Brook, yeh’ve been chosen by this owl. She’s a beaut, she is. Not many snowy owls this far south. They tend to stay in Scandinavia,” said Hagrid.

“I’ll take her,” said Brook to the shopkeeper.

A few minutes later Brook and Hagrid left the owl emporium with an owl, a cage, and food and treats. “One last stop, to get yer wand,” said Hagrid. "The only place to get that is at Ollivanders.”

Brook saw a sign ahead with peeling gold letters, “Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.” Brook started to ask Hagrid if that date was true when Hagrid said, “I’ve got summat else to do so I’ll let yeh get yer wand and I’ll meet yeh at Fortescue’s Ice Cream across the way when yer done.”

Brook walked into the dark shop that had shelves everywhere you looked filled with small boxes. He looked around a little, but wondered if the shop was open as he couldn’t see anyone working.

“Hello. Is anyone here?” called Brook. He heard a shuffling noise from above and then footsteps coming down the stairs.

“I am Mr. Ollivander. May I help you?” said a man who looked old enough that Brook started to believe the shop had been open for over two millennia.

“Hi, I am Brook Pelton and I need to purchase a wand.”

“I don’t remember you being in here before and I remember all of the wands I sell. From where did you get your previous wand? Perhaps Proctor’s Wands in Salem, as I recognize an American accent?”

“No, I have just learned I am a wizard and have never had a wand before.”

“Oh, that is unusual, but no bother; we will find the correct wand for you. The wand chooses the wizard, as they say. Let’s see, how about one of these?” as he pulled out several boxes, seemingly at random from the shelves behind him.

Brook remained motionless, not sure what he was expected to do. “Don’t just stand there; pick one up and give it a try,” said the old man tersely.

Brook picked up wand after wand and had similar results to when he tried with Dumbledore; some caused boxes to fly off the shelves, some did absolutely nothing, and one even caused an explosion that destroyed part of the counter. “Dear me, dear me, I never have this much trouble. I sense that there is something wrong about this whole exercise. I don’t understand why I cannot match you with the right wand.” Then, the look on his face changed from confusion to irritation. “Wait. Are you using Polyjuice or some other concealment spell just to purchase a second wand so that you can’t be traced? That is against the law and I must ask you to leave immediately! I should have known from you cockamamie story that you are nearly an adult and have never had a wand before. Leave before I call the Aurors!”

Brook wasn’t sure what to do; McGonagall had told him to never reveal his true identity to anyone, but it seemed that the charm that Dumbledore had placed on his ring was preventing Mr. Ollivander from doing his job. A little desperate, Brook said, “Before you call the Aurors (whoever they may be, he thought), do you have any way I can contact Headmaster Dumbledore. I need to ask him a question. Where can I find your telephone?”

“Telephone? What is that? Anyway, why should I let someone who is breaking the law contact Dumbledore? Get out; I am going to Floo the Aurors!”

“Wait, please! Can you use the Floo to contact the headmaster? If you ask him, he can verify my story. Please, I am not trying to cause problems.”

“Alright. I guess I can do that. But if he doesn’t vouch for you I am Flooing the Aurors immediately!” The old man walked over to the fireplace, threw a pinch of powder into the flame, turning it green. He then said, “Hogwarts Headmasters Office,” and got down on all fours and put his head into the fire. This is going to take some getting used to, thought Brook. After a few minutes, in which Mr. Ollivander seemed to be annoyed based on his body language as he held the conversation, he stood up, moved back from the fire, and suddenly Dumbledore appeared out of the fireplace.

“Is there somewhere the boy and I can go to have a private conversation?” Dumbledore asked Ollivander.

“I will just go upstairs into my office and you can talk down here.” The old man then slowly crept up the stairs, though obviously still put out by the situation.

“So what’s the problem?” the headmaster asked Brook.

“It seems that the charm you placed on my ring that conceals my appearance is also making it impossible for Mr. Ollivander to find the right wand for me.”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that. Ollivander can be trusted, if I ask him to promise to tell no one.” Dumbledore aimed his wand up at the door that Ollivander had disappeared behind at the top of the steps and it opened, revealing Mr. Ollivander crouching at the keyhole, obviously spying on the conversation Brook and Dumbledore were having. “Come on down, Mr. Ollivander,” said Dumbledore, with a little smirk on his face at catching the wand maker in a little mischief.

“Mr. Ollivander, I must apologize for the charm I have placed on Brook here. It is vital that we keep Brook’s true identity a secret, as I am sure you will understand when it is removed. I was not aware that my charm would affect your process.”

“You know that I am nothing if not discreet, Headmaster, but I doubt that all this subterfuge is necessary,” replied Ollivander.

“I think you will understand my precautions in a moment. Ok, Brook, take off your ring.”

Brook complied and watched Ollivander’s face as it changed from annoyance at the situation to surprise. “James Potter! It can’t be; you’re dead!”

“Look again, Garrick,” said Dumbledore.

As the wand maker stared at Brook, they could almost see the light bulb go off in his brain. “No, you are too young to be James. . . . Hmm . . . It can’t be! Are you Harry? Harry Potter? But you're supposed to be dead as well.”

“Yes, Garrick, this is indeed Harry Potter. Now do you understand why all the secrecy?”

“Of course, of course. I apologize for becoming angry at you Mr. Potter. Now that I can see the real you, I think I know just the wand. I’ve been keeping this one for a special occasion.” He climbed up on a stool and reached as high as he could, pulling down a dusty box. “Eleven inches, made of holly with a phoenix feather core. Try it.”

Brook picked it up and it instantly felt warm in his hand. He lifted it over his head and swished, resulting in a shower of red and gold sparks.

"Yes, indeed that is the one! I had wondered if this wand would ever pick anyone, based on its brother wand, but it is appropriate that you are the one.”

“Why?” asked Brook.

“The brother to your wand, yew, thirteen and a half inches, and a phoenix feather core given by the same bird as the one in your wand. Well, it was the wand that must have made you disappear all those years ago.”

“You mean it was Voldemort’s wand?” asked Brook.

“Yes, one and the same. It seems that we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter. After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things–terrible, yes, but great.”

Brook and Dumbledore left the shop after paying, but Brook couldn’t seem to shake the cold feeling down his spine. They met Hagrid at Fortescue’s, but Brook didn’t feel much like ice cream after the encounter in the wand shop, so they went back to Hogwarts, having finished their shopping.

**********

Later that evening, Brook went back to his dorm and retrieved his portable CD player from his bedside table and decided to listen to a little music. He turned it on, but didn’t hear anything, so he adjusted the volume, but this had no effect. He then checked to make sure the earphones were plugged in properly, which they were. He looked at the player a little closer and realized that the CD wasn’t even spinning. The batteries must be dead, he thought. He went into his trunk and got some fresh batteries, but this didn’t help either. Maybe it was broken on the flight.

Brook decided to sit on the window seat in his dorm room, reading through a copy of A History of Magic that he had found in the Gryffindor common room, looking for an appropriate name for his new owl. He thought it would make sense to name her something Scandinavian, since that was where most Snowy owls lived. So, he was searching through the section on magic in Northern Europe However, the owl in question didn’t seem to like any of them, and would pull Brook’s hair at the mention of each one. She had already rejected Hulda, Sif, Freyja, and Sybil. “How about Katla? Spakona? Skogsra? I don’t blame you on that one. Velda? Hedwig?” At the last name, instead of pulling his hair, she nipped him gently on the ear affectionately. “So, Hedwig is it, huh? Okay, from now on, you will be Hedwig.”