The Gathering: The New Order of Merlin Book 1

7. Diagon Alley

    "Why eleven? Why couldn't I be at least fifteen?" Merlin said to himself, stumbling along Diagon Alley.

Everywhere he went, he was painfully reminded of why he didn't want to turn into a child in the first place. He hated being smaller than everyone, being looked down upon, fussed over, and spoken to in a condescending tone. Moreover, when stuck in an eleven-year-old body, he was clumsier than usual, unhealthily skinny, and his ears stuck out much more than he remembered they ever did. He would rather have been a gangly teenager than this embarrassing preadolescent.

His favorite age to turn himself into was eighty. When he sported white hair and a long beard, he was treated with respect. He could do whatever he pleased, no matter how unreasonable. He once even got a piggyback ride from a prince.

Whenever he wasn't forced to use his aging spell, he stayed in the age he was frozen in. He was content with being a healthy, strong twenty-six-year-old. It felt right.

But this ridiculous arrangement wasn't about him. He was doing it for Harry Potter. The boy needed him.

"Or does he?" Merlin mused.

Dumbledore was a skilled wizard. Why was he so convinced he would need help? Was something else going on he had not told Merlin about?

Merlin had his eyes peeled, looking among the crowd of wizards milling through the street. Per Dumbledore's message, Harry was going to visit Diagon Alley today. Merlin hoped to run into him at one of the shops but so far found no one that matched his description: dark hair, glasses, and a scar on his forehead. He wished Dumbledore had given him a picture.

Merlin liked coming back to Diagon Alley, knowing that the same shops and pubs awaited, no matter which decade he visited it. While the world changed with a blurring speed, this hidden nook of London remained the same for centuries. He could rely on wizards' attachment to tradition to keep it the same, though he never warmed up to their attire. Cloaks and long robes were never his style.

A small crowd gathered outside of a bookstore. He joined them, hoping he would finally get lucky. As he pushed his way through the mass of people, he heard whispers, "Harry Potter," and perked up. The boy was here.

Being smaller made squeezing between the crowd easier. Merlin navigated the sea of excited witches until he saw the boy everyone was pointing at. Young Harry Potter stood next to a blond wizard, who was dazzling the store patrons with a toothy smile while Harry looked like he was searching for an escape route. The sign read "GILDEROY LOCKHART, AUTHOR."

Merlin looked back at his Hogwarts supply list, recognizing the name. Lockhart was the author of seven books on his list. They better be good.

Merlin made his purchases and waited at the front of the store, hoping to catch Harry once the boy escaped the attention. He rehearsed possible conversations in his head, becoming more confident by the second that he could get the boy to like him. The only challenge was how to act like his peer. It was an awkward age — not quite a child anymore, but not a teen yet.

He saw Harry's unkempt black hair squeezing through the crowd and cleared his doubts. For now, he would act like himself and adjust his behavior based on peer reactions.

Before reaching him, Harry found his friends and was stopped by a pale-haired boy. The argument they started was picked up by adults and chaos ensued: punches, bleeding noses, books flying off the shelves. A half-giant broke the fight apart, and they all left the shop in a hurry.

Merlin ran after them and tripped over his own feet, sprawling on the ground with his purchases flying in front of him. Meanwhile, Harry and his friends disappeared inside the Leaky Cauldron.

"Nice. Great start, Merlin," he said to himself, getting up.

While the boxes flew back into his outstretched hands, he contemplated if he should still follow Harry. After the commotion in the bookstore, the timing for introductions didn't feel right. He would get another chance to meet Harry on Hogwarts Express, the train all students took to get to the school.

He turned to look for a hidden spot to teleport home from, but paused, feeling magic that tingled in his nostrils. His legs moved on their own accord as the sensation drew him in, different from all other magic Diagon Alley burst with.

A little bell dinged as he opened the door of Olivander's Wand Shop. He stopped in his tracks, cool air taking him by surprise. Patches of frost adorned the shop windows and a dusting of snow covered all surfaces. He stepped in and slipped on the icy floor, painfully landing on his backside.

"Be right with you," a scratchy voice said from behind the counter.

Merlin massaged his bruised tailbone and searched the small shop for the source of the winter magic that lingered in the air. The hundreds of wands kept in rectangular boxes stacked all the way to the ceiling emitted their own traces of magic, but none as strong as the one that caused the anomaly he was feeling. It reminded him of his own magic: potent, ancient, and catastrophic if mishandled.

"Ah, starting Hogwarts this year, yes?" An elderly man rose above the counter, a few boxes in his arms. "Shopping for your first wand, boy?"

"I already have a wand," Merlin murmured, listening if anyone else was in the cluttered shop, but he already knew that the source of this peculiar magic wasn't there anymore.

The old wandmaker narrowed his eyes on him. "I see. I understand the nostalgia for family keepsakes, boy, but having your own wand will ensure your spellcasting success. Mark my words, boy..."

"What happened here?" Merlin interrupted.

The wizard looked around his shop and raised his bushy gray eyebrows as if surprised at seeing the wintry decor. "Oh, pardon the mess. Previous customers took a while to find the right wands. Lovely twins, yes. You'll meet them at Hogwarts this year."

"Children did this?" It didn't feel right for a child to hold this much power.

"Mishaps befall improper wand matches. The wand must choose a wizard, you see." He turned to the shelf to slide the wand boxes in and continued, "They call me the best wandmaker in the world for a reason, boy. You're in the right place. I'll let you try..."

Merlin slipped out of the shop, having heard enough. He stood in the middle of the alley, closed his eyes and expanded his senses. If he was lucky, said children were still around. He made it his business to keep tabs on all powerful wizards and witches, lest they were up to something. These twins were powerful enough to leave behind traces of magic most adult wizards couldn't produce in their lifetime. They had just made his watch list.

But it wasn't his lucky day. He could not sense anything other than the usual Diagon Alley magic nearby.

He didn't find them today, but he would get to meet them soon at Hogwarts.

This Harry-sitting job just got more interesting.