The Leaky Cauldron on Charing Cross Road in London wasn't exactly known for its ambience. If it weren't for the entrance to Diagon Alley being tucked away inside, Charles was pretty sure he'd never have set foot in the place his entire life.
According to the letter, they were supposed to meet here at eleven. The old man and the boy had arrived a whole thirty minutes early, loitering near the pub, pretending they couldn't see it, and making idle small talk.
Jack turned to Charles and asked, "Do you want a pet?"
Charles replied without missing a beat, "A veela."
Jack fell silent for a moment. Then, taking Charles by the arm, he said, "Come on, let's go to Azkaban. I'll book you a suite. I'll even ask the Dementors to bring you a sheep."
Charles's face darkened immediately—probably because the old man had picked him up in Wales.
"Hey! Charles!"
Just then, a small group of people came up to them. The one calling out was a bucktoothed girl, followed closely by Mr. and Mrs. Granger and Professor McGonagall.
Hermione came bouncing over, her face lighting up with surprise. "I had no idea—you're a wizz… I mean, you're going to the same school as me!"
She remembered the moment Dumbledore had read out the name "Charles Smith" to her and her parents. The three of them had been completely stunned.
Charles pulled a mock-surprised face and laughed. "I didn't expect it to be you we were waiting for. Looks like we'll be classmates again."
At that moment, he heard the old man say, in the most formal tone imaginable, "Good day, beautiful lady. I'm Jack Smith, Charles's grandfather. Might I be so bold as to ask your name?"
Charles glanced up and gawked at Jack, who had suddenly transformed into a proper gentleman from the last century, greeting Professor McGonagall with all the pomp he'd never shown even during election campaigns.
What the meow is going on?
Professor McGonagall looked visibly awkward. Charles quickly gave the old man a little kick and turned to her. "Excuse me, are you a professor at Hogwarts?"
Thanks to the interruption, McGonagall managed to regain her composure and introduced herself calmly, "Hello, Mr. Smith. Charles. I'm Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Head of Gryffindor House, and the professor of Transfiguration."
"Oh, Transfiguration?" Jack raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Is that where you turn one thing into another? If Charles misbehaves, you could turn him into a sheep and make him eat grass three times a day."
He seemed to think he was being funny. Mr. and Mrs. Granger, however, looked horrified—as if they might send their daughter off to school only to have her return as a fluffy white lamb.
Professor McGonagall replied seriously, "Hogwarts no longer uses Transfiguration as a method of punishing students."
"Really?" Jack sighed, clearly disappointed. "What a shame."
Charles rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't fall out.
After the introductions were done, Professor McGonagall led them toward the Leaky Cauldron. On the way, Jack arranged with Mr. Granger to take Charles for a dental check-up the following day.
The inside of the pub was dark and dingy, its décor and patrons dressed in such old-fashioned attire that first-time visitors could be forgiven for thinking they'd been transported back to the Middle Ages.
At one of the tables sat a pale-faced man with a thick turban wrapped tightly around his head. He gave Professor McGonagall a nervous nod.
The Grangers paid him little attention, but Charles and Jack gave him a longer look and exchanged cryptic smiles.
The group made their way through the Leaky Cauldron. Professor McGonagall tapped three bricks on the wall with her wand, and the stones began to shift and slide apart, revealing a bustling street beyond.
"Welcome to Diagon Alley," she said to them.
Perhaps because they had the Smiths with them, the Grangers—though clearly a bit nervous—managed to look composed, whispering to each other about cauldrons, owls, and flying brooms for sale.
Charles looked around with wide-eyed curiosity, chatting with Hermione from time to time.
Meanwhile, Jack walked alongside Professor McGonagall, asking questions whenever something caught his interest.
"No, absolutely not," Professor McGonagall said, shaking her head in response to one of Jack's questions. "First-year students are not allowed to bring their own broomsticks to school."
Jack replied, eyes full of emotion, "Charles's birthday is coming up in a few days. I'll never forget the night I pulled him out of that rubbish bin by the roadside. He was so tiny, barely breathing."
"This child… he survived against all odds. We've never been apart all these years. I've always treated him like my own grandson. And now that he's leaving me, I want to give him a gift."
"He's loved planes ever since he was little, always said he wanted to be a pilot when he grew up. I think he'd really like one of those flying brooms."
"I'm not trying to challenge the school rules. How about this—you hold onto the broom for now. When he's allowed to fly, you can give it to him."
Charles, trailing behind, had his face in his hands. This again.
Professor McGonagall considered it for a moment, then said, "Very well. The broomstick will be kept with the head of his house during his first year."
Just then, they arrived in front of a grand, snow-white building. Professor McGonagall announced, "We've arrived at Gringotts."
Everyone's eyes were immediately drawn to the bronze doors, where a goblin in red and gold-trimmed robes stood guard. They all stole glances and whispered to each other in amazement—everyone except Jack, who didn't even flinch.
Professor McGonagall gave him a curious look. "You've seen goblins before?"
Jack replied smoothly, "After seeing you, even a fire-breathing dragon wouldn't surprise me."
McGonagall paused for a second, then said calmly, "My apologies."
With that, she led the Grangers through the bronze doors.
Charles leaned over to Jack and whispered, "Show some restraint, would you?"
Jack gave him a glare that shut him right up.
With McGonagall's help, both families quickly exchanged their Muggle pounds for Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts.
Jack simply pulled several stacks of banknotes from his vest and laid them neatly on the counter, while Charles struggled with the sheer weight of all the gold he was handed.
With money in hand, the first order of business was, of course, to buy a wand.
Determined to stay in his "Muggle grandpa" role to the end, Jack didn't bring his own wand. Not that it mattered—he was just as dangerous with or without it.
They entered Ollivanders, and the old wandmaker immediately emerged from behind the counter to greet them.
While the two wand newbies were trying out different wands, Jack sidled up to Professor McGonagall and started asking detailed questions about wand lore, looking every bit the curious and eager student.
Even the Granger parents could tell something was up, and tactfully stepped aside to give them space.
Jack asked his questions with such sincere intensity that he didn't stop until Charles came over to tell him his wand had been chosen.
"You're done already?" Jack blinked. "What kind is it?"
Charles, deadpan, held up his new wand. He'd called out to Jack before, but apparently, the old man had been too busy trying to flirt with the Deputy Headmistress to notice.
The wand had a yew wood body, with a phoenix feather core, and was a little over eighteen inches—460 millimeters to be exact.
Ollivander came over to explain the wand's qualities to Jack, as he always did when Muggle families were involved.
"Your grandson's wand is the longest we've sold in over a hundred years. The last wizard who wielded a wand of similar length… well, I dare not speak his name, but suffice it to say, he was a very powerful man. Yew wands are extremely rare, and they tend to choose owners who are equally extraordinary. Such a wand bestows power over life and death."
"The core is phoenix feather. Phoenixes are proud creatures—they don't submit easily. This particular feather comes from a different bird than the one owned by Professor Dumbledore. In fact, a century ago, a very important wizard commissioned a phoenix-feather wand from my ancestor. That wand was also unusually long. This feather was part of the payment."
"As the saying goes: the wizard chooses the wand, but the wand chooses the wizard as well. Their natures align. Your grandson is destined to be a truly great wizard."
Jack beamed at the compliment and paid for the wand, tossing in a few extra Galleons just for good measure.
(End of Chapter)
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