One hour later, Albus Dumbledore and Jasper Allister stood before a weathered, unassuming pub nestled between two nondescript shops on a busy London street.
Above the faded wooden door hung a crooked sign that read: Leaky Cauldron.
Jasper's blue gemstone-like eyes scanned every detail—the peeling paint, the cracked windowpanes, the faint smell of aged wood and something faintly electric in the air. His dark hair was neatly pushed back, giving him an air of quiet intensity as he observed the crowd milling past.
Finally, Dumbledore broke the silence with a warm smile.
"Tell me your thoughts, my boy."
Jasper blinked, folding his arms as he took a deliberate step closer to the door.
"Well," he began, voice calm and measured, "you said we would be buying my supplies for Hogwarts at a place called Diagon Alley. Yet, here we are, standing in front of this shabby pub. I suspect this pub is... some sort of entrance."
He glanced around again, noting the passersby.
"No one wearing normal clothes has entered or exited. Only people dressed in what I presume are wizarding robes or other... unusual garments."
His gaze settled on the door.
"I'm intrigued. Why don't Muggles see this place? Is it a spell? A charm? A form of concealment? Some sort of Muggle-Repelling spell?"
Dumbledore chuckled softly, pleased by the boy's sharp analysis.
"Very good, Jasper. You are correct on all counts. The Leaky Cauldron is what we call a Muggle-Repelling Charm. It hides the entrance to Diagon Alley from those who are not magical."
Jasper nodded thoughtfully, already running possibilities through his mind.
"Fascinating. A spell designed not to block but to erase from perception. An active suppression of sensory data."
He tapped his chin. "I wonder if it could be detected using Muggle technology—or if it alters brainwaves to prevent recognition."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.
"A question for another day. Now, shall we see what lies behind this door?"
Jasper smiled faintly, the first subtle sign of warmth since they'd met.
"Lead the way, Professor. I'm eager to see the science of this 'magic' you speak of."
Together, they stepped inside the Leaky Cauldron, the door creaking closed behind them, leaving the bustling Muggle world outside—and opening the gateway to something far stranger and far more fascinating.
As they entered the pub, the light dimmed to a warm amber hue. The air inside smelled faintly of smoke, parchment, and something like cinnamon mixed with old wood. It was quiet—eerily so. Aside from a few creaky stools and a fireplace that crackled softly in the corner, the only sign of life was the man behind the bar.
He was wiping a dusty glass with a rag that had definitely seen better days. Bald, stoop-shouldered, with a vaguely lopsided grin, the man looked up as the door shut behind them.
Dumbledore stepped forward with his usual charm.
"Good morning, Tom."
The barman gave a polite nod, his cloudy eyes lighting up as he recognized the visitor.
"Professor Dumbledore! Always a pleasure. Bit early in the day for Firewhisky, isn't it?"
Dumbledore chuckled.
"Just passing through, Tom. Taking young Mr. Allister here for his school supplies."
Tom glanced at Jasper, who was staring fixedly at the shelves behind the bar—several of which seemed to be holding bottles filled with swirling, glowing liquids and jars labeled in handwritten scrawl like Mandrake Maturation Dust and Phoenix Tears (Diluted).
Jasper's expression didn't change, but his eyes were alive.
"They're suspended," he murmured.
Dumbledore turned to him. "Pardon?"
"The particles in the bottle—whatever liquid that is—it's not just glowing, it's floating. Stabilized in place. No movement. It's not natural viscosity. Some kind of stasis charm, maybe? Or possibly a low-frequency containment field."
Tom blinked.
"Er… that one's just fairy nectar. Bit volatile, so we don't shake it much."
Jasper nodded slowly, as if confirming a hypothesis.
Dumbledore leaned in, amused. "He's new to all this, Tom. But I daresay he's taking it better than most."
"Hmm," Tom muttered, eyeing the boy again. "Looks like a sharp one."
Jasper finally looked away from the shelves and fixed his attention on the far wall where a worn-looking brick archway stood behind a wooden door.
"That's the entrance, isn't it?" he asked. "To Diagon Alley?"
Dumbledore beamed.
"Indeed it is. Care to do the honors?"
Jasper raised a brow. "You trust me to activate the gateway to a hidden magical district… unsupervised?"
"No," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "But I trust you'll enjoy watching me do it."
He strode toward the wall with his wand already out.
"Three up… two across," he muttered, tapping the bricks in an oddly specific sequence.
The wall shuddered, then pulled back with a soft grinding sound as bricks folded inward, revealing a sunlit alleyway alive with color, sound, and impossible motion.
Jasper's breath caught in sheer fascination.
"So it's keyed to a pattern," he whispered. "Some kind of spatial folding or molecular phase lock. That explains the hum I felt when we stepped into the pub—it's the threshold barrier reacting."
Dumbledore stepped aside and gestured.
"Welcome, Jasper… to Diagon Alley."
As the brick archway finished unfolding, the full brilliance of Diagon Alley spilled into view.
Shops tilted at impossible angles. Cauldrons bubbled outside storefronts beside towers of parchment and quills. A witch drifted by on a floating stepladder, adjusting a levitating sign that read "Scribbulus Ever-Lasting Ink — Now With Dragonblood!" A small boy chased a miniature dragon that was breathing harmless puffs of blue smoke. The air shimmered with magic—alive and electric.
And looking at it all, one thing filled Jasper Allister's eyes:
Wonder. Amazement. Curiosity.
But not the naive, slack-jawed awe of a tourist. No—his expression was far sharper. Focused. Almost reverent.
His gemstone-blue eyes darted from one impossible thing to the next, not just admiring them—but dissecting them.
"This entire place…" he murmured, barely above a whisper.
"It's a living contradiction. Every law of Muggle physics—shattered. Every constant—rewritten. And yet…"
He stepped forward, slow and deliberate.
"...there's structure to it. It's chaotic, yes—but not random. Rules I don't understand—but rules nonetheless."
He glanced over his shoulder at Dumbledore, and for the first time since they'd met, there was visible excitement in his voice.
"This is the greatest laboratory I've ever seen."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled behind his spectacles.
"I thought you might appreciate it."
Jasper didn't reply. He was already absorbed—watching a floating broomstick display rotate in midair with perfectly synchronized motion, calculating vectors with his eyes.
He whispered to himself:
"Field manipulation… anti-gravity, perhaps? No visible tether. Must be ambient magical force. Can it be mapped?"
A witch bumped into him as she passed and gave a hasty "Watch it!" before disappearing into a crowd. Jasper didn't even flinch. He was too enthralled.
A nearby stall selling enchanted telescopes caught his attention next, and he veered off toward it without a word, eyes wide, brain racing.
"They'll never get him out of here," Tom the barman muttered behind them, peeking through the doorway with a grin.
Dumbledore chuckled softly.
"No," he agreed. "I rather suspect they won't."
Dumbledore approached Jasper, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"Jasper, I think it would be better to buy your supplies first."
Jasper smacked his lips thoughtfully and nodded.
"Yes, sorry. I almost forgot. The supplies."
"What exactly should we be buying?"
Dumbledore smiled, reaching inside his coat. With a flourish, he pulled out a neatly folded letter sealed with crimson wax stamped with the Hogwarts crest.
"Ah, I forgot to give you this—the letter from Hogwarts."
"Everything you need to know is in here."
He handed the letter to Jasper, who unfolded it carefully, eyes scanning the elegant script:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Allister,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to begin your studies as a first-year student in the upcoming term.
Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
School Uniform:
Three sets of plain black work robes
One plain pointed hat
One pair of protective gloves
One winter cloak
Essential Books:
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration
by Emeric Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi
by Phyllida Spore
Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble
Other Equipment:
One wand
One cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
One set of glass or crystal phials
A telescope
A set of brass scales
Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad.
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK
If you have any questions before term begins, please do not hesitate to contact us.
We look forward to welcoming you to Hogwarts.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Jasper folded the letter carefully and looked up at Dumbledore, a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips.
"You are not as simple as you seem, Professor—or should I say Headmaster. Quite a lot of titles you have there, it seems."
Dumbledore chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles.
"Ah, those are the perks of a long and eventful career. But titles aside, it is my pleasure to welcome you to Hogwarts."
He gestured toward the bustling alley ahead.
"Shall we get started? Diagon Alley awaits."
Jasper's eyes gleamed with anticipation.
"Indeed. Let the research begin."
Their first stop was Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, a cozy little shop tucked between a cauldron emporium and a broomstick gallery. The moment they stepped inside, they were surrounded by floating bolts of fabric, hovering pins, and mannequins that adjusted their collars on their own.
A warm-faced witch with greying hair and glasses perched on her nose bustled forward.
"First year at Hogwarts?" she asked kindly, her eyes already measuring Jasper up and down.
"Yes," Dumbledore replied. "Mr. Jasper Allister."
"Right this way, dear. Up on the stool."
Jasper obeyed without a word, stepping up onto a low platform as measuring tapes zipped through the air and circled him like cautious birds. One unraveled itself and began taking precise measurements while scribbling them onto a floating parchment.
Madam Malkin began sorting robes nearby, humming softly.
Jasper, naturally, used the moment for inquiry.
"So, Professor," he said, his gaze not on the mirror but on Dumbledore.
"On the Hogwarts crest, I noticed four animals—a lion, snake, eagle, and a badger. Can I assume they represent four different factions or cohorts?"
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with amusement.
"Yes, indeed. They represent the four Houses of Hogwarts. Each was founded by one of the school's original founders—Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Helga Hufflepuff."
Jasper nodded slowly.
"Let me guess—Gryffindor is associated with bravery or reckless impulse. Slytherin is perhaps cunning. Ravenclaw must be intellect. The eagle gives it away. And Hufflepuff…"
He paused, tilting his head. "Loyalty? Endurance? The badger isn't a glamorous choice, but it survives."
Madam Malkin looked up, startled.
"You're quite sharp for your age, dear."
Jasper didn't respond to the compliment, his mind already racing elsewhere.
"Do the Houses compete? Or cooperate? Is there a hierarchy? A House system implies structural division—it could reinforce tribal thinking if handled improperly."
Dumbledore gave a slow nod, impressed.
"That's a discussion many never even consider until their seventh year—if at all."
"Hmm," Jasper mused aloud. "I prefer understanding systems early. Patterns reveal long-term consequences."
At that moment, the tape measure coiled itself neatly and floated away with a satisfied twirl.
"You're all set," Madam Malkin said, handing Dumbledore a slip for collection.
Jasper stepped down and looked around.
"One shop down. Nine to go?"
"Roughly," Dumbledore said with a chuckle. "Next: books."
Jasper's eyes lit up again.
"Lead the way."
Their next stop was Flourish and Blotts, the main bookshop of Diagon Alley—though Jasper would have described it more as a cathedral of knowledge. Tall wooden shelves stretched all the way up to the ceiling, overflowing with books that muttered, glowed, or flapped restlessly. A few were even chained to the shelves with thick iron links.
While Dumbledore approached the front counter to speak with the shopkeeper about the standard first-year book pack, Jasper wandered into the nearest aisle like a moth drawn to flame.
Within seconds, he had a book cracked open in one hand and another tucked beneath his arm.
The title in his hand read:
"Fundamentals of Charms: An Introductory Guide"
by Perdita Featherstone
He flipped rapidly through the pages, eyes darting back and forth. His mouth moved silently as he read—until suddenly, he whispered:
"Fascinating… You use Latin."
His voice was quiet, but intensely focused.
"Of course… it makes sense. Structured language as a magical control mechanism. Semi-dead tongue reduces risk of subconscious activation. Latin roots tie spells to intentional recall."
He flipped the page.
"This also implies that the incantation is not the magic itself—but a stabilizer for the intent behind it…"
He looked up, toward a hovering shelf labeled "Intermediate Charms", and muttered:
"I wonder how much of spellcasting is linguistic scaffolding versus actual energy shaping."
"Planning your N.E.W.T.s already?" Dumbledore asked lightly, walking up behind him with a wrapped package of standard books in hand.
Jasper didn't glance away from the page.
"I'll read those too," he said. "But if I'm going to learn how to manipulate an invisible force field powered by human intent, I prefer to start with understanding the why, not just the how."
Dumbledore gave a quiet laugh.
"Some students take years to ask that question."
"Then they're learning backwards," Jasper replied simply.
Just then, one of the books on the shelf beside him gave a low growl. Jasper paused, looked at it, then turned back to the charms book and calmly kept reading.
"I assume the more dangerous ones are chained up for a reason."
"Indeed," Dumbledore said. "Remind me not to leave you alone in the Restricted Section."
"Too late," Jasper muttered.
An hour later, their bags were heavy with books, robes, cauldrons, and all manner of mysterious supplies. Jasper's keen eyes had scanned every label, every detail, cataloging the magical objects like data points for future analysis.
Dumbledore and Jasper now walked down the bustling street, the towering sign of Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. looming ahead.
"Here we are," Dumbledore said, gesturing toward the narrow, shadowed shop wedged between a potion shop and a broomstick repair.
Jasper adjusted the strap of his bag, expression unreadable.
"The wand," he said quietly, "the final piece of the puzzle."
Dumbledore smiled knowingly.
"Yes. Your wand will be the key to unlocking your potential."
The shop was dimly lit and strangely quiet. Dust motes floated in shafts of light from the narrow windows above, and thousands of long, thin boxes lined shelves that stretched to the ceiling. The air held a kind of reverent stillness—as if even sound bowed in the presence of something ancient.
Jasper's eyes swept the shop, calculating rows, comparing dimensions of boxes, noting that none were labeled in any clear, visible system.
"Chaotic at first glance," he murmured. "But I suspect there's a classification logic beneath the surface."
"Very astute," came a voice from the shadows.
An old man stepped out from behind one of the shelves. Thin as a wand himself, with silvery hair like spider silk and pale, watery eyes that blinked slowly as they took Jasper in.
"Garrick Ollivander," he said simply. "Wandmaker."
"Jasper Allister," Jasper replied, offering no further detail.
Ollivander tilted his head. "An uncommon name. And I don't believe we've met your family before?"
"I don't believe you have," Jasper said, not unkindly.
There was a flicker of something in Ollivander's expression—curiosity, maybe, but he didn't press. Instead, he turned on his heel and began pulling open drawers and sliding out boxes.
"Let's see… left-handed or right?"
"Right," Jasper said.
A wand was placed in his hand almost immediately. Jasper raised it—but before he could do anything, a spark of blue light burst from the tip and shattered a nearby lantern.
"No, no," Ollivander muttered, whisking it away. "Too volatile. Not that one."
He tried another. Then another. Jasper's expressions never changed—always curious, always calm—as if he were running an experiment with live variables.
Then Ollivander froze in front of one small, narrow drawer.
"Silver lime," he murmured, sliding it open with a reverent touch.
From within, he withdrew a long wand—14¾ inches, unusually elegant, almost metallic in the right light.
"Silver lime wood," he said softly, "highly sought after by seers and those with a natural affinity for magic involving insight, intellect, or… unconventional perception."
He opened the box fully and revealed the wand resting in dark velvet.
"Core: Thunderbird feather. Exceptionally rare. Powerful magic, sensitive to storms, and favors adventurers of both mind and spirit."
He handed the wand to Jasper.
The moment Jasper touched it, the temperature in the shop shifted—something electric moved through the air. A sudden hum. The hair on Dumbledore's beard lifted slightly.
A soft pulse of light burst from the wand's tip—not destructive or wild, but clean, clear, and sharp as lightning through glass. It faded a second later, leaving behind a strange silence.
Ollivander stepped back, eyes wide.
"Fascinating. That wand… it doesn't often choose someone."
"What does that mean?" Jasper asked, looking down at it.
"It means the wand has found someone whose potential matches its storm."
Jasper slowly raised the wand, watching the subtle glow from the grain.
"It's not perfect," he said simply.
Ollivander looked startled.
"No," Jasper continued, his voice steady. "Which is good. Perfection is a dead end. This—this is potential. Untamed. Evolving."
Dumbledore, standing near the door, couldn't help but smile.
"A fitting match, I would say."
"It'll do," Jasper said. "Let's begin the real work."